Page 22 of Deadly Passion

“This way,” I bark, grabbing her arm and pulling her along with me.

I try to ignore the soft warmth of her skin as she stumbles along. She is a killer. Our enemy. If she didn’t leave with the Killers Club after the Collingsbrook Ball, we’d all be dead.

Ivy says nothing while we climb the stairs.

“What happened to your cheek?” I ask.

She ignores me as we emerge from the dungeons. No one is around—Seb and Callen are still watching over Bram, andI’m grateful for the privacy. They can’t think I’m showing her sympathy. I need to maintain a tough stance, although that doesn’t mean we have to treat her like an animal. We’re better than the Killers Club.

“Nice place,” she says, looking down the windowless corridor and narrowing her eyes at the Campbell coat of arms mounted on the brick wall.

“We’re not here for a tour,” I hiss, tugging her along.

I misjudge my strength and yank her too hard. With her ankles bound, she loses balance and topples over. She uses her forearms to break the fall, but her knees land with a crack. All thoughts of her being our prisoner vanish as I duck at her side.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

“How far have we got to go?”

“The next door on our right,” I reply.

I put my arm around her shoulder to help her up, but she shrugs me off, choosing to do it herself. Her grazed knees are bleeding from the sharp flagstone.

Fuck…

We walk a few more feet, and I hold the door open.

She pauses. “Are you going to wait outside?”

“No,” I insist. “I’m coming with you.”

CHAPTER 14

IVY

For someone used to walking in ridiculous heels, I thought walking in shackles would be a breeze, but it’s more complicated than it looks. It turns out that I haven’t mastered the half-naked duck waddle dance at all. When I fell, I made sure not to give Freddie a reaction. If I complain about grazed knees, he might never let me upstairs again.

He holds the bathroom door ajar for me to pass through. Inside, a giant bronze bath and matching sink take up most of the space. They look strange paired with the black-and-white chequered floor. The toilet’s flush cord dangles from the ceiling—unfortunately, it’s not quite long enough to strangle someone with, if the need arose.

Freddie turns on the bath taps. The water pings off the giant tub like rain hitting a caravan roof. There mustn’t be a shower in a building this old.

“I need to use the toilet.” My cheeks heat as I can’t ignore the burning need in my bladder anymore. “Can you give me some privacy?”

He looks torn, then sighs, and taps his watch. “One minute.”

He steps outside but leaves the door open ajar, keeping one foot inside. I’m grateful for the moment alone, but it’s short-lived. He returns as soon as he hears the flush.

The bath fills fast, and Freddie rummages through various bottles in a cupboard above the sink. He tips a purple liquid into the water, and the heady scent of lavender fills the room.

“Are you going to untie me?” I ask.

“Are you going to keep pushing your luck?” he snaps.

“How will I get into the bath then?” I question. “Do you expect me to bunny hop and break my legs on this monstrosity?”

A vein twitches in his forehead. “I’ll carry you.”

“Fine,” I agree. “Put me in then!”

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