I shudder, watching the hurt and love in her eyes. What am I supposed to say? I don’t want to know if she’s still hung up on him.
Instinctively, my heart leaps into my throat. Heavy boots thunder in the hallway, followed by the boisterous laughs of burly men. As I back away, three hearty knocks hammer against the closed door.
“Stella, where you at?”
Stella’s chest heaves as she freezes in place. With no time to act, the handle turns and the door bursts open.
My eyes lock with Lance, and a sly smile creeps across his face.
“Why, hello, Sasha.” His tone is gravelly as cigarette smoke puffs out of his mouth. “Or, should I say, Vanessa?”
Behind him, McCoy and Stitch take up the rest of the hallway.
Lance takes another drag of his cigarette and then points it at Stella. “Thanks again, Stell. You keep bringing her to us.”
Stella’s teeth chatter as she shrinks away from him.
Lance motions to McCoy. “Get Ashworth’s kid, would ya?”
I shriek, fumbling backwards onto the flimsy bed. McCoy thuds toward me, yanking me up by the arm.
Lance steps into the room, staring down at Stella. “Beat it.”
About to shatter into pieces, Stella scampers out of the room.
Lance nudges Stitch, ordering, “Follow her and take her to Hugo.”
When Stitch leaves, Lance sets his sights on me. He grabs the front of my sweatshirt, pulling me close. The bulging veins in his neck warp the artwork inked into his skin. He takes another puff of his cigarette, and the chains around his neck jingle with his exhale.
My blood boils at the sight of his St. Christopher pendant. “Why do you wear that pendant? You hate your mother.”
Lance smirks, baring his teeth. “Exactly. It’s a reminder.”
More footsteps pound along the hallway. My shoulders slump as Boscoe appears at the doorway, but then my emotions scatter. Dax stands alongside him.
Dax’s eyes widen at the sight of me. “No!”
I whimper as Lance’s hand squeezes the back of my neck.
Dax’s skin is ghostly pale, and dark bags hang under his eyes. There’s a strain in his neck as he swallows hard, and his eyes dart between his brother’s face and mine.
“Let her go,” he tells Lance. There’s a tremor in his stance, and his shoulders droop.
Lance laughs cruelly, pulling an arm around my waist. I yelp, which delights him further.
“Don’t do this,” Dax pleads, gradually lifting a hand. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Oh, I know, baby bro,” Lance replies. “But I didn’t grab her. She walked in on her own.”
Dax’s chin drops, and his eyes land on me with horror.
Lance’s hand slides up from my neck and into my hair. “So I guess I get my cake and eat it too.”
Agony groans out of Dax as his hand snakes into his jacket and holds his side. “Just let her go.”
Lance shoves me forward, and I struggle to stay on my feet. For a brief moment, a swell of relief fills me as Dax steps toward me. But it’s swiftly taken away when Lance snaps his fingers.
“McCoy, get some rope,” Lance orders.
