Page 25 of Bared

Terror pushed at all her pores at once. A stiff wind cut down the passage and turned her sweat to chills. Then ice.

So cold…

Ohhh, no. What have I gotten us into?

She wasted no time waiting for an answer to that. Instead, she wrote her own solution and drove her knee straight upward. But Gervais, with a sixth sense too frightening for coincidence, caught her by the thigh and slammed her back against the wall. The brunt of the force knocked her windless. During the critical moments in which she choked to regain breath, the bonsun in front of her became the same one pinning her down.

“Not a word from you now, my sweet Hildegard,” Gervais crooned, his thighs like torture chamber restraints. “Or I shall give Remy clearance to do very painful things to your friend.”

A mewl erupted from Emme’s throat. Her eyes were wide and flooded with mortification. Jayd stared back, visually pleading with her beloved maid. Remorse was now her personal wraith, creeping through her with regret and anguish. The grief worsened as Gervais circled around, pulling out the silk tie she suspected him of ditching earlier. He deftly doubled the fabric back on itself and then pushed the midpoint between her lips. She nodded at him, giving a nonverbal acquiescence to his challenge, though hated herself through every moment of it.

Just as quickly, she ordered herself away from the mental noose. This was no time for self-judgments. No time to be wallowing either. No turning back any clocks. This was the world of now, not a week ago. She was not wandering the coastal paths outside the palais, with her only stress being how to entertain her nephew for an afternoon, or which designer she would commission for upcoming press tours.

Right now, she had to think with logic despite her terror. With clarity through her misery.

Conviction that sparked her with a new idea.

If she gave Gervais the impression that she was petrified with fear—not a huge stretch at this point—this might end up in her and Requiemme’s favor.

She hoped.

Dear Creator and all the angels, she prayed.

If just one of the bar’s employees came out to take a break…

If Louis LaBarre finally showed up and asked others if they had seen her…

If she could scramble enough of her brain together to actually remember what Samsyn had taught her about tactical fighting…about how everything around her could become a useful weapon in a time like this…

But this moment, all she could focus on was Remy, with his stovepipe neck and bulging forearms, pushing Emme into a filthy corner next to a large green bin. As a fearful mewl erupted from her friend, Jayd’s breath came in constant slices of ruthless pain.

But the extra agony was also her new energy. Galvanizing comprehension.

The giant bully intended on harming Requiemme, no matter what Jayd did.

Not all right.

Before the resolve was complete in her senses, she skittered her gaze to the side. A few seconds were all she needed to consolidate her plan, because it was a damn good one. She visualized every stage of the scene, almost as if the universe wanted her to have an exclusive sneak peek before it materialized.

Her arm flicking out. Her fingers stretching.

Those fingers curling around the neck of an empty wine bottle—a quality Cabernet, with droplets still gleaming inside—before she lifted it in a high sweep. Then lowered it for a violent crash.

Then the satisfaction setting in. The grim joy of watching the smashed glass across Gervais’s head, sending shards across his face and into his closest eye.

“Putain!” he shrieked, doubling over and grabbing his face. “What the—”

“G?” Remy demanded. “What the fuck?”

“I’m fine,” Gervais snarled, raising his head with a ferocious jerk. “Stay where you are. I’ve just got a feisty little bitch here.” As he smirked, blood puddled in several crevices in his jaw. “But she’ll obey if yours does—and luckily, I like to fight as hard as I fuck.” After sweeping another empty wine container out of the trash, he smashed the bottle against the dumpster’s lip. “Do not fret. I can take it, darling. What about you?”

More than anything, Jayd longed to stab the asshole with an equally insolent smile. Instead, a scream crawled up her throat. She forced it down in time but could do nothing about the thunder of her carotid. If she still had all her hair, its length might have hidden the telltale throb at the side of her neck. But if she still had all her hair, these two monsters would likely have recognized her by now.

“Mon ami.” Remy, despite being built like the bull to Gervais’s pony, actually produced the more reasonable tone. “Can you keep it in your pants another minute, damn it, and listen to me?”

“No, goddammit.” Gervais twisted an ugly scowl. “You went first the last time.”

“Fuck you. I said listen to me—just like you should have been listening to these two for the last fifteen minutes.”