“I did what you asked,” she said, voice shaking.“Let him go.”
One of the men smiled even as he pulled the guard’s head back with a hand in his hair and ran a knife across his throat.Blood arced in a similar line, the wet heat of it across her bare arms almost dropped her to her knees, the gurgling sound of distress the young man made in the moments before he died would be with her forever she was pretty damn sure.
She’d done as they’d asked and they killed him anyway.
“If it makes you feel any better,” the killer said as he dropped the guard’s body to the floor.“The wound I had given him to lure you out was killing him slowly anyway, he just didn’t know it.
Mara screamed as hands grabbed her, yanked her arms behind her back, snapped cuffs around her wrists and a hood came down over her head, cutting the world to black.
“You belong to Mr.Havelock now,” someone said.“And he has plans for you, baby.”
She was hauled upright and thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of grain, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs.Her wrists were already cuffed behind her back, metal biting deep into tender skin every time she shifted.Someone slammed her into the back of a vehicle and the door closed hard, sealing her into darkness and motion.
The hood muffled sound, but she forced herself to listen.
One turn.A stop.Another turn taken too fast.Gravel crunching.The smooth hum of open road.Time stretched and folded in on itself as she counted, mapped, memorized—anything to stay present.Panic would waste oxygen.Panic would get her killed.
When the vehicle finally stopped, hands dragged her out and her boots scraped concrete.The hood came off in a harsh jerk and light stabbed her eyes.
A warehouse.
Cold.Damp.The air reeked of metal, oil, and old water.Chains hung from beams overhead.They shoved her into a chair bolted to the floor and locked her down—cuffs switched for heavier restraints that bit into her skin.
Guards took positions.Blank faces.No curiosity.No pity.
Time lost its meaning.
Her shoulders burned.Her ribs throbbed.She focused on breathing through it, on keeping her spine straight, on not giving them the satisfaction of seeing her fold.
Then the air changed.
Grant Havelock walked in like the space belonged to him, shoes immaculate, expression faintly irritated rather than angry.
“You made a mess of everything,” he said mildly, as if commenting on a spilled drink.“I want the drive.”
Mara forced her chin up.The movement sent a spike of pain through her ribs, but she welcomed it—pain meant she was still here.Still herself.“Fuck you.”
Havelock sighed, a sound of faint disappointment.Then his hand came out of nowhere.
The blow landed hard enough to snap her head sideways.Light burst behind her eyes, a clean white flare, and the taste of copper flooded her mouth.Her chair rattled as she absorbed it, breath tearing out of her in a sharp, humiliating gasp.
Don’t fold.
She swallowed blood and lifted her head again, neck screaming, vision swimming but clearing by sheer force of will.She made sure he saw her look back at him.
“You think you’re clever,” he snarled now, the mask finally cracking.“You think running buys you something.You think they’ll come for you.”
Mara’s heart hammered, loud in her ears, but the fear underneath it was less than she expected.Because fear had already done its worst.
“They will,” she said.Her voice came out rough, scraped raw, but it didn’t shake.“And when they do, this ends.And by that, I mean you’ll be dead.”
Havelock laughed, short and sharp.“You really believe that?”
Before she could answer, the first gunshot tore through the warehouse doors.
Metal screamed.The sound echoed off the concrete, off the beams, off the chains overhead.
Then another shot.
