Page 11 of Coal Hearts

“He will. You have my personal guarantee.”

Shit.

My pulse pounded in my veins, whooshing in my ears.

How the fuck would I survive this?

How could I control myself when this bastard was giving me the very permission I’d denied myself all my life?

Fuck, Q.

Help.

I glanced at my birdcage cufflinks, wishing they had a microphone. I wished the stranger who was my half-brother would appear and slaughter this guy now, instead of making me infiltrate a club that operated far out of the sanctity of law.

No one knew where The Jewelry Box kept their slaves.

No one ever found the men and women trafficked through it.

Once a girl or boy was targeted, they were swallowed up and never seen again.

I looked over my shoulder at the girl who’d captured my awful attention. She’d been marked. All because I’d made eye contact with her and sucked in a breath that tasted like sweetest sin.

Her life had been cut short because of me.

The pain she was about to endure—

I groaned.

Beneath my shame, I grew shockingly hard. Images of her submitting filled my mind while my ears throbbed with the sounds of all the screams I could wring from her.

I trembled, not because her blood would stain my hands but because I wanted it to.

I wanted it so fucking badly.

I was as black as this bastard beside me, and my self-control kept slipping.

Slipping...

My hands fisted around the envelope-wrapped money.

Make the choice.

Right now.

Save countless women—just like Q demanded of you—or walk away and save just one.

That one.

You don’t have to do this. There isn’t a gun to your head.

But at least be honest with yourself that if you refuse—the minute you say no—she’s his anyway.

Breathing hard, I turned back to face the Jeweler.

Out of the two of us, I’d rather be the one to drag her into the worst nightmare of her life. With me...I would try to save her. With him...he’d make her wish for death.

He licked his lower lip, keeping a careful eye on me. “If you’re worried he’ll make a scene, don’t be. The crowd has been dispersed. The bartender is otherwise engaged. The girl’s fight has reached its end, and the boy is fuming. He knows he can’t strike her. Not here at least. Yet he’s plotting how to make her pay.” He chuckled. “You’re merely giving him revenge with a neat and tidy bow...along with a nice little payday. He’ll take the money, Henri. And when he does, you will take the girl.” He pointed into the blackness. “Take her to the back of the club. There’s a door. Knock four times and you’ll be let inside.”