I clench my teeth again and try to focus and remain in the present. The woman’s skin is raw beneath the rope, bleeding in thick lines of crimson. She’s trembling, her eyes darting between the three men in the room, uncertain of who she should be more afraid of.
I reach up and gently remove her gag, letting it hang around her neck as she starts rubbing her hands to get blood flow moving back through them. Her palms having turned purple.
“You’re safe,” I promise, even though I know I might seem ridiculous with the two men she obviously fears still in the room.
“No, I’m not,” she whispers, her eyes moving toward Ashford. “He’s going to kill me,” she draws in a large breath. “He said he would if I ever tried to leave.”
“He’s not going to get close to you ever again,” I promise, feeling the rage settling in my gut. Not the hot, impulsive anger that makes people stupid. The dangerous one that makes people kill with torture.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, taking her a little further away from her guard.
“A week, I think. Maybe longer,” she says, and I can tell she’s looking through me. “I lost track after the first few days. They drugged me at first, and then…” she shivers, clutching the flimsynightgown closer to her body. “There were others before me. I heard them talking.”
I take a blanket that’s just lying tossed on a chair and wrap it around her shoulders. I know the expression in her eyes all too well.
“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to assess who she fears most. The guard, or Ashford.
“Roxanne. With an E at the end.” The irrelevant detail, the kind you cling to when everything else is falling apart, makes my chest ache.
“Roxanne-with-an-e, can you tell me what happened?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle while watching Ares tighten his grip around Ashford’s throat.The man’s face is turning a pretty shade of purple, and I have to clear my own throat to get Ares’ attention so he won’t kill him before we’re done with him.
“I was at a club downtown,” Roxanne explains, her voice steadying slightly as she pulls the blanket tighter around her. “My friends left earlier. I was about to go, but someone must’ve slipped something in my drink. I woke up here, and he—” she nods toward the other man, not Ashford, to my surprise. “He said he’d keep an eye on me, and that I should do whatever he asks.”
“How many otherothers?” I ask, my voice low over the sound of Ares demanding answers from Ashford.
“Tell me who else is involved?” Ares growls, his hand tightening around Ashford’s throat.I just hope he doesn’t kill him. “Who gave the orders to infiltrate my game? Who uses this kind of information?” Ares presses, making Ashford’s eyes widen. But his lips remain sealed. I’ve seen that look before on Whitlock. He’s terrified of Ares, of what he may do to him. But he’s terrified of someone else, even worse.
“I don’t know how many others,” Roxanne answers me, drawing my attention back to her. “But I wasn’t the first. Theyhave a system. The girls whobehaveeventually work in the main club or with what they call celebrity clients. The ones who don’t…” she trails off, and I don’t need her to finish that sentence.
“Well, you’ll be an exception. The one that got away. I’ll let you leave after we’re done with them.”
“Thank you,” she says, then her eyes harden as she looks at Ashford struggling in Ares’ grip. “He… he’s done some of the things to me…” she breathes, and I wait for her to calm down. “He called me here now. To do it again. It gets worse every time…” her gaze flicks between the two men—Ashford and the larger guy. “You know what would be justice?” she smiles, and I can see a hint of insanity blooming on her face. “Make that one—” she nods toward the larger man, "—fuck him for a change. Let him see how it feels."
I blink in surprise, not expecting such venom from someone who looks so fragile. But I recognize the sentiment. When you've been powerless for so long, you start fantasizing about turning the tables until your perception of reality becomes something twisted.
And who am I to stand in her way? She’s definitely endured more twisted shit than this. And in the end, her idea might serve us perfectly.
Ares, with his inhuman hearing, catches her words despite being focused on getting information out of Ashford. Dark laughter rises from his chest as he turns to look at the other guy, who visibly pales. I’m pretty sure Ashford would pale as well, but he’s turning blue right now, so it’s hard to tell.
“You heard the lady,” Ares smiles, gesturing toward the other guy as his voice drops to that edge that warns of danger.
Then he shoves Ashford toward the center of the room. “Last chance to tell me the name.”
Ashford looks back at Ares with even more shock, as if he never considered this was a possibility, but his lips remain sealed.
“Your choice. Enjoy,” Ares smiles again, even more cruelly, before he gives the command that leaves both men trembling. “Clothes off, both of you.”
The other guy’s eyes widen in panic. “John—”
“Do it,” Ares commands, visibly losing his patience. “Or I’ll strip the flesh from your bones instead,” he says, taking out his knife, his eyes running up and down its blade, preparing to act.
His threat hangs in the air, without either of the men budging. Before either of them can move, I step toward them. “I’ve got this,” I say, meeting Ares’ gaze.
His eyebrows rise slightly, but then he sees something in my expression that makes him step back, giving me the floor. I need to do this for me, and for this girl who’s watching me.
I approach the men, and I know this isn’t just about information anymore. It’s about justice, something I understand all too well. Something I never really got. Ezekiel might have died that day at Kharon, but I wasn’t the one who did it. I couldn’t even summon the courage to mention his name again in front of Ares and ask him how the bastard had spent his last moments.
twenty-one
