Page 68 of Winter’s Fire

“I expect you to do everything in your power to ensure your sweet submissive’s safety. You see, although she’ll make a lovely additional sale, she’s a bonus—and if you don’t do as we say, we’ll kill her. Likewise, if she doesn’t obey, you’ll die. Simple, really, when you think about it.”

“And when you sell her, what happens then?” Logan nearly choked on the question. “If she isn’t here, your hold over me is gone, and I will kill you.”

“By then, my friend, you’ll already be dead.”

“You sick bastard. It’ll never happen.”

“Oh, I think it will. In fact, I know it will—I’ll make sure of it. That’s if the training sessions with my men don’t kill you first. They’re quite looking forward to tomorrow, so they can get started on a punch bag that can fight back for a change—it’s a bit more of a challenge for them. They can be quite bloodthirsty, and I know for a fact they’d be only too delighted to shoot you and dump your body at sea.” Von Brandt pushed himself away from the table. “Much though I would like to continue this fascinating discussion, I’m needed elsewhere, so for now, I’ll bid you a fond farewell.”

“What about Lisa and Diana?”

“Oh yes. Proof of life, isn’t that what they say? As a show of good faith, I’ll have you taken to your sub. Until I decide what to do with her, Miss Carstairs is our… guest at another location.”

“What about her boyfriend?”

Von Brandt frowned, almost as if he had no idea what Logan was talking about. Then his expression morphed into a cold, pitiless smile. “Oh yes, him. Yes, he was more a lover than a fighter—I didn’t have much use for him. He’s probably well and truly fish food by now.”

Von Brandt was an even bigger monster than Logan had imagined. While the fate of both Diana and her boyfriend sickened him, his immediate priority was Lucy. The bastard could easily be lying through his perfect white teeth, but Logan wanted to believe she was whole and relatively unharmed. Bile rose at the memory of the last time he’d seen her, how he’d failed to protect her. How badly he’d failed her, period.

Two of von Brandt’s barely housetrained thugs entered the room. One of them threw a hood over Logan’s head, plunging him instantly into stinking darkness. Hands at his ankles freed his legs, then he was yanked to his feet and dragged in the direction of the door.

Impressions of his surroundings flashed into his mind—a wooden floor, steps, rough, gravel-strewn ground beneath his feet. Any sounds were muffled by the hood.

After a few yards they stopped. Logan heard a metallic sliding sound that reminded him of the side door of a van being opened. A sharp, brutal shove between his shoulder blades, and his legs smashed against the chassis, tipping him off balance. Unable to put his hands out to break his fall, he crashed into the vehicle interior, a last-second twist forcing him onto his shoulder. Someone grabbed his legs and wasn’t too careful about heaving him all the way in.

His grasp of Spanish wasn’t quite good enough to interpret every muffled word the men exchanged, but he got the gist and had it confirmed when the bonds around his wrists were fastened to an anchor point close to the floor.

The door slid shut, and the van set off. The jolting journey threw Logan around, wrenching his shoulders even more. Consumed by anger and hatred, he ran through possible options for escape, and swore he’d move heaven and earth to get Lucy to safety, or die trying.

If she was still alive.

And if she wasn’t? That was easy—he’d take out as many of the bastards as he could before he joined her in death.

~~*~~

Lucy hugged her knees to her chest. Maybe just a little more pressure would stop the tremors racking her body. They’d started in the first couple of minutes after she’d woken up in this… cell.

It was just a pity they hadn’t dressed her in something a little more substantial than thin leggings and a t-shirt. The rough-hewn stone walls surrounding her unfortunately provided excellent insulation against any residual heat that might be lurking outside. Moonlight streamed through the barred windows—two of them, set high in the wall, providing just enough light for her to make out the pillar in the centre of the room.

It also allowed her to ascertain the most significant thing of all.

Logan wasn’t there.

The sense of loss was more profound than she could ever have imagined possible, and in that mass of desolation, one shining truth stood out—she should have told him she loved him.

She’d almost done it when he bound her to the cross, but as usual, she’d chickened out.

Lucy couldn’t say exactly when she’d fallen for him; there was no definable moment when it happened, nothing obvious he’d said or done to make her feel that way. It was all down to spending time in his company, and getting to know more about the man behind the devastating looks and incredible body. Having penetrated the darkness that had initially scared her away, she’d found the diamond at its heart.

She ached with longing for the man and fear that she might have lost him before she could share how she felt. Now she might never have the chance.

And while her heart was breaking, her spirit was already fighting back. She was alive and virtually uninjured. No matter what had happened to Logan, she owed it to him to survive, to make these bastards pay for what they’d done, and she’d use whatever method she could to do it.

Another swift examination of her surroundings reminded her of the questions that had exploded in her mind when she’d regained consciousness.

What kind of bugs were crawling around in the thin, straw-filled mattress she refused to sit on and the rough blanket that accompanied it?

Who’d last used that stinking bucket in the corner?