Page 96 of His Deadly Lies

How do I do this? Anger won’t work on him. He’s the type of person with an ego the size of Texas. And egos that large need to be catered to in a specific way. Fighting back and forcing him to reconsider his motives is a waste of time.

So is asking him what the actual fuck he was thinking when he decided to fuck with me and mine.

It will only set him off, and more than likely end up with a tantrum and the business end of that bulge.

When I finally meet his eyes, it’s to smile at him, blinking. “Vincent? I don’t understand.” I keep my voice soft and accommodating. “What’s going on, and why do you have me tied?” I arch my wrists against the ropes.

His smile grows, and he steps closer before shooting his father a look over his shoulder. I told you so. “It’s okay, Mia,” he soothes in an absolutely not-soothing tone. “I’ve got you now. Everything is going to be all right, I promise.”

I test the binds again, meek and terrified as a kitten in a windstorm. “What’s going on?”

“You’re safe.” He’s gone indulgent.

“Vincent, this is not a good idea. She knows who we are. It’s too late to return her and pray for mercy from her father,” Hector adds. He glances at Alice but makes no move to help her in any way.

No move to help me, either, although he’s the only one talking sense at the moment.

There are no prayers strong enough to grant either of them mercy now.

When my father comes for me, they’ll be nothing but a memory.

Hector Accardi is a smart man, however, and he’s done a halfway decent job of building his own empire. It seems the only thing he can’t make a go of is keeping his son on a leash, which is where the boy belongs.

Boy. Because when I hold him up next to Carter, Vincent falls short in every single way.

The boy in question is close enough to touch me now. He drags his index finger and middle finger along my forehead and down the curve of my cheek, and I swallow over revulsion. “The ropes are to keep you from hurting yourself. It’s not an easy ride, coming up from chloroform. And it was the only way to get you here without an argument. How do you feel?”

Like I want to kick his balls into his body so hard he chokes on them.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to be tortured, either, which is a possibility if I can’t convince him of my cooperation.

One wrong move, and Vincent—who must already be close to the edge of insanity, pulling a stunt like this—might snap. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Especially not when my body still feels like it’s in free fall, nothing solid to cling to, and Alice is over there crying like a kitten.

I’ve only got a hope that I’ll be able to make it out of here before something worse than death happens. There’s no mistaking the heat in his eyes when he looks at me.

“This is wrong,” Hector adds. “Vincent, you’ve got to see reason. Let her go, and let’s run.”

Too late. Hector knows it’s too late. To go back, to stop any of this from happening. And in a moment, the ignored head of the Accardis turns on his heel and heads out of the room, too close to his own free-fall into rage.

I push all of my own panic and confusion aside and focus on Vincent. There are two of his personal guards standing at the door, and although the right one sneaks looks between the two of us, the one on the left is older and focuses straight ahead. Neither one of them will move to help me or Alice.

Maybe…

No.

No.

Vincent stares at me expectantly. Waiting for my answer.

I can’t do it. I won’t do it.

Do I have a choice?

The heat is something I can work with, no matter how sick it makes me.

“I don’t feel very well, actually.” I bite down on my tongue and lean into Vincent’s palm. “Will you help me? I’m so woozy.”

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