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He nodded as if he expected me to say something like that. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“The things you heard. The whispers we shared…it was a method of control.”
“Again, I don’t believe you.”
“Okay then…I asked her to play along with me. I told her not to fight back, and I’d get her out of here. I told her I’d been sent to free your slaves by doing whatever was necessary.”
“That I believe.”
“I told her for me to achieve such things, I had to wait for backup to arrive and that meant having to pretend. I confessed that even while I ‘pretended’ to be abusive…I would enjoy it.”
His eyebrows quirked. “And she went along with it?”
“She did.” I resisted the urge to turn around and find her. “She gave me her consent. For all of it. Hence…it was never rape.”
“Interesting.” He toyed with a mini pastry. “If that’s true and you don’t give a damn about her…then this won’t bother you.” Snapping his fingers, he barked, “Roland. Grab Ily and bring her here.”
“Be my fucking pleasure.” Roland shoved the rest of whatever he was eating in his mouth, then wiped crumb-covered hands on his shorts. Leaving the throng of other cop-detesting guests—all of them lined up and salivating at the thought of my murder—he shot me a wicked grin, then shot down the steps to the grass.
His large belly jiggled beneath his maroon polo, and his khaki shorts strained over his ample backside as he snatched Ily around the elbow and hauled her to her feet.
Possession rose ugly inside me.
I wanted to rip his motherfucking hands off for touching what was mine.
But I stayed silent and stoic as he dragged her into motion.
Peter restrained himself from reacting, but I saw the look between them: the quick bolt of terror and powerlessness, support and commiseration.
Ily tripped as Roland cuffed her around the ear. “Walk properly, or I’ll make you crawl.”
Bracing herself, she figured out her feet and lurched up the deck in his grasp. Her bare, stunning skin looked sacrilegious beside him. The cuts I’d made—all hidden beneath plasters and bloody fingerprints marking her as mine—roared our history, all while another man dragged her around like she was his.
Shooting me a scowl full of hate, Roland stalked right to our table, kicked aside the two unoccupied chairs, and tossed Ily toward us.
Her eyes met mine, wide and worried as Roland grabbed her nape and shoved her face first, right between Victor and me. Her golden cuffs and collar clanked against the table, her wrists knocking crockery and scattering the condiment caddy to the floor.
Every instinct roared to slit Roland’s throat with the butter knife, but…whatever new game this was, I had to win.
And I have to keep my wits.
Settling into my chair, I cocked an eyebrow. “Trying to prove that your guests jump at your every command and your jewels have no control, Master Jeweler?”
I stressed his title like he’d stressed my name.
He didn’t seem to care; merely laughed under his breath. “Oh no, my lying friend. Merely trying to see how far you’ll go to prove you’re not what you truly are.”
“You think by tossing Ily on my plate, I’ll what? Confess I’m a cop?”
“I think watching Roland fuck her in front of you will force you to admit the truth. Especially if I promise to stop him if you merely admit that you’re a snitch and a rat and a motherfucking dead man.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “Gotcha.”
“So…?” Victor raised an eyebrow. “One last chance, Henri. Will you or will you not admit you’re an officer of the law? Are you from an English force? French? Interpol? Who?”
“I told you.” I refused to look at Ily, panting with pure fear on the table. “I’m not a cop.”
“Roland.” Victor flicked his snuff-watching, necrophiliac friend a smile. “Fuck her.”
“About damn time.” Roland ran sausage fingers down her spine and shoved his hand between her legs.
“Get off me, you sick bastard!”
She screamed.
She thrashed.
Her sudden ferocity knocked Roland off balance, sending him reeling. Swooping upright, she looked as if she’d run, but then with the softest snick of a remote, she gasped, went rigid, then flopped back over the table, twitching and moaning in agony.
Victor held his electricity remote directly against her collar, his blue eyes dead of emotion. “Do I have to do everything for you, Olivan?” He rolled his eyes at Roland.
Roland fumbled with his zipper. “No, bijoutier.”
“I’m surrounded by idiots.” Removing his thumb from zapping Ily, Victor waited a few seconds for her to stop convulsing and then nodded. “Get your cock out and fuck her then. Let’s see how many thrusts it takes Henri to admit he’s—”
“I’m not a damn cop.” Rage accented every word. “And if he sticks his dick in her, I’m going to be extremely pissed off.”
“Why? Because you promised to save her before any other man had a taste?”
