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I can’t believe it.
“You can understand why I was a little more than pissed off,” he continues. “Not only did Max claim the big prize by signing the contract for Izabella, but he needed to take everything. Like the selfish bastard he is, he needed to steal my wife and make her his mistress so he could have both of you.”
I think about the windowless room under the water level in Venice where Maxime locked me up to demonstrate my fate with Alexis, to force me to choose between them.
“You would’ve locked me up,” I exclaim with intensifying panic. “Tortured me. Raped me. Let your men have their fun, too.”
“Maybe I would’ve locked you up to keep you from running and have a little fun with my men. Where’s the harm in sharing? An orgy can be exciting, especially for a woman. You lucky bitches can have multiple orgasms whereas us poor guys have to wait between hard-ons. I wouldn’t have tortured you, though.”
“Your idea of excitement sounds close enough to torture.”
He shrugs. “Each to his own. In any event, when my brother is dead, you’ll need protection.” His expression sharpens. “Marseille isn’t safe for a mediocre man, let alone a pretty little girl on her own.”
I need time to digest all this. “Get out.” I point at the door. “Now.”
Smiling, he straightens. “You may want to be nice to me, kitten. You may need me sooner than you think. When that time comes, I think I’ll claim you as my mistress.”
Over my dead body. Whereas Maxime specializes in mental and emotional torture, Alexis is an expert in the physical. They’re two of a kind. Maybe they deserve each other after all.
He walks to the door with the arrogant stride of a victorious man. Waving his fingers at me, he says, “Chao, belle.”
The minute he’s gone, I run to the door and lock it. To be on the safe side, I pull out the key and push it under one of the books on the bookshelf. Backtracking, I keep my eyes on the piece of wood that stands between Alexis and me. It’s nothing to break down a door. Look at Maxime. He got through a security gate and alarm system, not to mention the double security at the complex entrance. How much easier is a thin little door?
With a racing pulse, I retrieve the phone and knife, carry both to the bathroom, and leave them on the chair as I strip out of the dress. I leave the gown where it drops in a heap on the floor. My chattering teeth are not only from the cold.
After a quick, warm shower, I dress in my flannel pajamas and crawl into bed. Too exhausted to stay awake and vigilant, I fall asleep with the knife under the pillow and the phone in my hand.
Chapter 14
Zoe
A persistent noise penetrates my dream. I’m not ready to wake up. I’m still tired. The noise doesn’t let up, though. As I slowly come to my senses, overwhelming anxiety slams into me when I remember where I am and why. Sitting up, I rub my eyes and squint at the time on the screen of my phone.
Seven o’clock.
It’s dark in the room. I haven’t closed the curtains, but sunrise isn’t for another quarter of an hour. It’s still raining.
I’m groggy and starving. My throat aches, and a headache pulses in my temples. Shivers run over my body. Every muscle hurts as if I’ve completed a triathlon.
The cause of the noise registers in my fuzzy brain. A vacuum cleaner.
Throwing the covers aside, I get out of bed and pull on a pair of socks and a robe. Even the slight pressure of my own hands on my skin hurts. Tying the belt of the robe, the one Maxime restrained me with yesterday, I go to the door. Francine is vacuuming the lounge. I tense. A black suit jacket that hangs over a chair back at the dining room table catches my eye.
Maxime came back?
I look at the terrace, but it’s raining hard. I doubt he’d be hiding out there.
The vacuum cleaner stops.
“Morning,” Francine says. Her voice turns sweet. “Oh, I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“What are you doing here?”
She regards me as if I’m crazy. “I work here.”
Going over to the jacket, I lift it off the chair. “Has Maxime been here?”
“Um.” She sweeps an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear because not a hair came loose from her perfect bun. “I’m just returning it.”
A whiff of perfume reaches my nostrils as I fold the jacket over my arm. “Returning it?”
“He lent it to me last night.”
It takes me a beat to catch on. “Last night?”
“You know.” She clears her throat. “At the hotel.”
She went to his hotel and left dressed in his jacket? What am I supposed to make of that? The answer is obvious.
