I imagine a blade across your pride.
I’ll carve that smile, erase your sin,
Your reign will end, so no more wins.’
His jaw tightens, eyes locked on mine. With a clipped edge to his voice, he repeats the question – louder this time.
‘Come on, Stella...would you...suck me dry? Go on...’ he urges, his voice both mockery and menace as he shifts his weight an inch closer. ‘Sink your teeth in, make it real.’ He pushes against my lips.
‘That’s not how it works,’ I growl.
‘Then make it work,’ he snarls. He snatches my chair forward, again forcing his forearm between my lips. ‘Youwillbite!’
My teeth graze his skin, and he groans breathlessly. ‘Fuck.’ He pulls up my skirt. ‘No panties?Perfect.’ He pulls his cock out and straddles my lap, bending his cock between my legs. As he thrusts, rocking us both back and forth, my teeth dig into his flesh a little harder. But the more I bite, the harder he groans, and the harder he thrusts. ‘I knew you’d have a dripping, wet cunt.’
The chair rocks back and forth, and my eyes begin to bulge as I struggle for air. My stomach churns, and as his blood coats my tongue I gag. ‘Tell me you want me. Tell me you want to devour me.’
My instinct to survive wars against my demand for air. My lungs scream and claw at my ribs, but I refuse to swallow. I refuse to surrender to swallowing his blood as it pumps into my mouth, to claim me. The metallic tang stings, my throat burns, but still I hold onto the agony of empty lungs.
Charlie narrows his eyes, the gears turning behind them. He pauses. ‘If Sal isn’t your lover...then what was he doing there?’
‘He was there to kill me,’ I gasp. ‘You’ll be doing him a favour, actually.’
The room holds its breath, then Charlie’s whole stance shifts.
‘Your next question would be, why?’ I breathe.
Charlie steps back, studying me like a problem he hasn’t solved. Exhaling through his nose, he straightens his jacket, and jerks his head towards the door.
‘We’re going for a drive.’ He stands before me, gun raised steady, his finger flexing against the trigger. There’s no more negotiations, so I gesture at the gun nonchalantly. ‘Is that supposed to scare me?’
‘It’s supposed to make you talk.’
‘Talk is cheap, killing me, now that can be expensive.’ He cuts the rope, and hauls me to my feet without reacting. ‘I hope the car is comfortable,’ I murmur, walking past him.
The car hums, tyres cutting through the wet asphalt. He drives in silence, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Two muscle heads flank me on the backseat, watching. Waiting.
I stretch my legs and roll my neck. Then – BOOM.
The warehouse erupts behind us in a fireball licking at the night sky, sending smoke snaking into the stars. The shockwave rattles the car. I don’t flinch, instead, I watch the blaze through the rear windscreen. ‘You know, Charlie,’ I murmur,’ you really have a thing for blowing things up.’ He doesn’t look at me. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, but he says nothing. ‘Oh, darling,’ I sigh, ‘you’re going to hate how this ends.’
CHAPTER 13
THE DIPLOMAT
I barely made it out alive. Smoke still clings to my lungs, burning the edges of every breath. Maybe Mr Lewis is right - I shouldn’t smoke.
My legs ache, adrenaline all tangled in a mess that I don’t have time to sort out. The explosion rang through my bones like the final note of a symphony meant to bury me. But I made it out. And hopefully, Stella did too.
My shirt smells of scolded metal, and my hands shake. I knew they weren’t inside. I knew it. Stella, Charlie, they should have all gone up in flames, but they didn’t. Charlie isn’t that stupid. He planned it. And me? I was left for dead. But there’s no time for self-pity. No time to linger in the ashes of a job gone sideways. I need to get back to Spain, and I need to face Mr Lewis.
Since Carlos’s death, Mr Lewis has spent more time at thecoto. It’s where he thinks, where he waits, where he plans. The hunting reserve isn’t just land anymore – it’s his kingdom, a battlefield, and a place where loyalty is measured in survival. I grip the steering wheel of a car once belonging to one of Charlie’s men like it owes me money, and look out at the road stretching before me – the last of the French miles before Spain – before the reckoning.
Mr Lewis doesn’t forgive. He doesn’t forget. And what did I do? I failed him. I fucked up, royally, disobeying him spectacularly.
The Pyrenees loom, judging every twist of fate that led to this. The border slips past – just a change in road sign, but to me, it might as well be the gates to hell. Every kilometre is another step towards my own funeral. The hunting reserve beckons, and I can almost hear the rasp of steel against stone as Mr Lewis sharpens his knives.
‘You look like hell, Sal.’
