Page 67 of Winter’s Fire

Even if he’d been expecting the security guards who burst through the gap between Hugo and the doorframe, Logan would have had no chance. Weight of numbers was on their side, and although he fought back with every dirty tactic he knew and landed a few good punches and a debilitating kick or two, the odds were against him.

A lucky—or not so lucky—stamp to the back of his knee forced Logan off balance, and he hit the deck. His arms were yanked behind his back, and the final blow was a boot in his ribs. Blood dripped from a cut lip, and he could already feel his eye swelling shut.

His last, vain hope was that they’d leave Lucy alone, but that was denied as he watched another of their number barge into the bedroom.

“No!”

He roared the word, straight out of the hell his world had become. He fought to free himself from the men who held him, but another boot in his torso drove the breath from his lungs.

Her scream fractured his heart, and the pieces exploded into razor-sharp splinters at the sight of Lucy being dragged naked into the room. Though she was terrified, he saw anger there too. When her gaze snapped to him, that anger turned to sheer grit.

“Lucan!”

It had to hurt like hell, he saw the marks it left on her skin, but somehow she’d twisted her arm free, and in a move that stunned Logan, she pivoted, and slammed the heel of her hand upward, into her captor’s nose. The bone-crunching impact had him staggering back, clutching his face as blood gushed between his fingers. Logan had never been more proud of her than he was at that moment.

But her heroic effort was in vain. Two more so-called guards rushed towards her. Terrified for her, Logan cried out a warning, but it was too late. They grabbed her, one of them clamping his hand over her mouth in the process.

“I don’t know who you really are, Mr. Simpson, and frankly, I don’t care. You and the young lady have asked too many questions. When you manoeuvred your way into seeing Dr. J with those obviously fabricated disagreements, we decided it was time to put a stop to it.”

“People know where we are—you’ll never get away with this, you bastard!” Logan spat the words, all the time trying to wrestle free of the goons who’d forced him to the floor.

“You’re mistaken—we already have, and have done so for years. We have a very lucrative operation here, one that we’re very keen to continue. When your deaths by drowning are reported to our friends in the authorities—yet another foolish couple who went skinny-dipping in the ocean, only to be caught in the ferocious riptides we have here—no one’s going to come after you.”

Hugo turned his attention to his men. “Put some clothes on her and get them out of here. You know what to do.”

What felt like an elephant-sized wasp jabbed Logan in the neck. As ice flooded his veins, he threw a final, desperate look in Lucy’s direction.

She was the last thing he saw, still fighting to free herself from the thugs who held her. Another heavy moved in behind her and secured a white pad over her nose and mouth. Her struggles weakened, and in her eyes, before her eyelids descended under the influence of whatever drug they’d used to subdue her, he saw a look of pure terror.

As darkness overwhelmed him, his last coherent thought was that he was going to kill every bastard who’d so much as laid a finger on her…

Chapter 18

“Welcome to the other side of paradise, Mr. Simpson. I suspect that’s not your real name, but since it’s the only point of reference we have for you, we’ll have to go with that.”

Without moving a muscle, Logan opened his eyes—the one that wasn’t almost swollen shut, at any rate. In that first moment of wakefulness, his training kicked in and he assessed his situation.

His conclusion—could have been better. Arms trussed behind him, each ankle tied to a chair leg. No blindfold, no gag. Pain stabbed through his shoulders, and his neck wasn't doing too well, either.

He raised his head slowly, gaze darting from side to side as he took in his surroundings. Light from a naked bulb, bare walls, barred windows with darkness beyond, a door… and a table, in front of which stood the head honcho himself, Jaeger von Brandt.

And no sign of her.

“What have you done with her?” Logan ground out the words as he tested his bonds. “Where is she?”

“Your charming friend? Quite a spirited little thing, isn’t she? I imagine she’ll make a good profit for us. So different from the harpy who got you into this situation. We still haven’t decided what to do with her, given that the buyer we had in mind for her backed out of the transaction.”

“Where are they? What have you done with them?”

Von Brandt leaned back against the table and folded his arms. “They’re safe enough—for now. I’m still trying to make up my mind about putting them in the next sale. Miss Carstairs is going to be a difficult one to place—for her, I need another buyer who’s up for a real challenge, and they don’t come along every day. I may just decide she’s too much trouble after all, and dispose of her.

“Your submissive, on the other hand… in her, there’s such a strong underlying desire to please. We can work with that, but my first impression is that she may need a little more… breaking in, before she’s quite ready to be auctioned off. Generally, my clients like their shiny new toys to be slightly more amenable, and less likely to break their nose.”

A dark, demonic rage erupted within Logan. Even though his logical brain knew it was futile, he thrashed against the ropes that tied him to the hard plastic chair. “Lay a finger on her and I’ll bloody kill you!”

“I seriously doubt that, Mr. Simpson. It may have escaped your notice, but you’re not in any position to make threats.”

“If you expect me to cooperate—”