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“Promise me first.”
“You mentioned a trade.” He drags a gaze over me. “What do I get in return?”
“Your life.”
His eyes tighten, all the playfulness vanishing. “What are you talking about?”
“Promise me.”
“If this is a game—”
“It’s not a game.”
He widens his stance. “Fine. You drive a hard bargain, wife, so it better be worth my while. What is this woman’s name?”
“Eden Brooks. She’s a minor. Bell may have appointed someone to take care of her while I’m gone. Number forty-three Second Avenue, Linden.”
“Who is she?”
I swallow. “My sister.”
His gaze narrows another fraction. “Your sister? What are you talking about?”
I stand up tall, acting brave. “I’m not who you think I am.” But it’s exactly that, an act, because my voice falters. “I’m not Evie Warren. My name is Christina.”
An awful silence falls over the room. Violence turns the russet color of his eyes a shade darker. “What do you mean you’re not Evie?”
“I’m her doppelgänger. Warren set you up. By now, Evie and Nathan will be married. Bell already has Max Stone on his side. He’ll set a trap. When you go to meet him, he’ll kill you.”
The quiet kind of violence is the scariest. Fear twists my insides as Roman stares at me for long seconds. The shutter is back in front of his eyes. He no longer lets me in, but I know he’s processing my words. I know he has to work through disbelief and bitter betrayal before the anger sets in. That’s what I felt when he told me he’d offered Bell a contract ten years ago.
I know the exact moment the hatred sets in. His eyes go hard. His face twists into a mask of fury. Yet his voice is eerily soft when he says, “Your job was to deceive me.” He advances on me. “Your job was to play me and give Warren time to go through with the marriage.”
I retreat until my back hits the wall. I want to say it wasn’t like that, but before I can open my mouth, he utters a raw cry and raises his arm. I don’t cower. I brace myself for his violence, but instead of bringing his fist down on me, he smashes it on the wall next to my face.
Like the first time he hit the wall instead of me, the outburst makes me jump.
Grabbing my bicep with bruising force, he pulls me to the door.
“Wait, Roman,” I say, putting all my weight into hanging back.
He drags me across the floor like I weigh nothing. “Do not fucking say my name.”
Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocks the door and continues down the hallway. I have to run not to stumble. On the stairs, I can’t keep up with his angry strides. I go down, landing on my ass, but he doesn’t stop to let me straighten. He drags me like a bag of garbage across the foyer to the back of the house.
I already know where we’re heading before he stops in front of the basement door to punch a code into the electronic keypad on the wall. Today, there’s no guard. Maybe he didn’t think it was necessary, seeing that I became his wife.
No, not his wife. His fake wife.
“You’re a fucking whore,” he says, forcing me down the stairs. “A traitor.”
The cold rushes up to meet us, turning my body into a block of ice. Warren’s men get to their feet as Roman drags me past their cell.
Unlocking the last iron gate, he shoves me into the third cell. The momentum makes me lose my balance. I stumble, landing on all fours. He’s on me in a flash, fisting my hair and pulling me onto my knees. Yanking hard, he tilts back my head and forces me to meet his gaze. The loathing is his eyes is reserved for me. He wants me to see that.
“You’re a good actress,” he says with flaring nostrils. “A perfect liar and a cunning little cheat.”
When he lets me go, I sink to my heels.
Taking a step back, he pulls his belt from the loops of his waistband. I know what’s coming before he swings the leather strap through the air and cracks it next to me on the floor.
“Say it,” he yells. “You will admit your lies on your knees and beg for my forgiveness while you kiss my feet or I swear I’ll beat it out of you.”
I lick my dry lips, shaking not only with fear but also from the cold. His life mission and carefully crafted revenge has been ruined. All I can offer is, “I’m sorry.”
He utters another cry before bringing down the belt again, this time closer to my body. He’s shaking, but not with cold. His anger is burning him up from the inside out.
“Fuck,” he says, dragging his hand over his head.
