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“He’s hurt?” he asked, astonished. “Karol is the one who’s hurt. Karol had the love of his life ripped away from him, and I’m the only one he’s got to look out forhim.”
Hartley softened her expression, hoping to God that she looked sympathetic. It wasn’t an emotion she was used to displaying. “I understand—”
“You understand nothing, bitch. I’ve watched you trying to run Cavendish. You only think of yourself. Only love yourself. This is the end of all that,” Jackal said, setting the box down and reaching behind him. His hand reappeared holding a small black tube.
“Kar—Jackal, let’s just talk—”
“No!” His mewling voice bounced against the walls like sharp needles. He dropped the flashlight and grasped her neck, fingers biting into her tendons and skin. He brought the tube toward her nose, and though she tried to move her head away, she couldn’t. And with Monty still lying on her, she couldn’t free a leg to kick.
She tried to push at him, scratching and pinching wherever she could, but he just laughed. The tube pressed against her nose, then in it, and she held her breath, opening her mouth to breathe. He slammed his palm under her jaw, snapping her teeth together and catching one side of her tongue in a burst of blood and pain.
She groaned and went limp, forcing him to alter his stance. When his palm loosened, she opened her mouth just enough to nip him.
“Fucking bitch,” he growled. Then he yelled, “You FUCKING, FUCKING BITCH!” He roared the last word long and loud, his forehead against hers and his eyes black, staring, empty. He smelled like sweat and oil and dirt. She held in a sob.
Then he reared his head back and slammed his forehead against hers.
It was a sledgehammer, sending sickening circles of orange spinning behind her eyelids. Her body slackened uncontrollably this time, but he didn’t let her fall. He gripped her neck, probably contributing to the new swirls of purple and black rolling behind her eyelids.
The tube pressed against her nose, and the pungent smell of ammonia combined with the bitter pinch of lemon rind surrounded her.
Just a twist of lemon, she thought, a flashing memory of the cosmos she’d had back in the Dallas airport.Girl, you’re a long way from there. And a longer way from safety.
“Sleep, sleep, pretty princess,” he whispered, and her last vision was of a leering animal, excited and ravenous.
Then…nothing.
CHAPTER25
Consciousness returned slowly, a sluggish ascent through layers of foggy oblivion. Montgomery became aware of the cold first, damp and bone-deep. Then came the pain, sharp and throbbing at the base of his skull. He tried to lift a hand to the source but something cut into his wrists. He lay on his side, knees bent. When he tried to straighten them, they pulled painfully on his hands.
Memory filtered in next. Arguing with Hartley, her eyes widening. Then a blinding explosion of pain before everything went black.
Hartley. Where was she?
His eyes snapped open, dizziness making his stomach heave. He closed his eyes, waiting for the spinning to stop. When it did, he opened his eyes more slowly, breathing deeply.
After a time, he could see a weak glow several feet away. He lay in the middle of the room, but that wasn’t right. Hadn’t he been in front of Hartley, whose back was to a wall?
He looked around, trying to make sense of the shapes coming into focus in the dim light. As he moved, he felt a painful heat swarm the arm against the ground. Had he been dragged? He must have.
The frigid stone floor leeched warmth from his body, forcing him to roll to his front, then to his other side. Ignoring the vicious pounding in his head, he twisted, searching the gloomy space for any sign of her.
“Hartley?” he rasped, effort and the echoes making his head clang again. Only silence answered, broken by the skittering of unseen things in the dark.
Ice crystallized in Montgomery’s gut, colder and sharper than the dread. Hartley was gone. Someone had taken her, leaving him helpless and trussed up like an animal.
Fury spiked through him, momentarily overriding the pain. Like hell he was helpless. And once he was free, someone would pay for this dearly.
Grunting with effort, Monty curled his body and inched his way to kneeling, sucking in a breath as his head spun. After a moment the faintness passed.
“Hartley!” he shouted, the word fracturing off the unforgiving stone. He heard nothing in return. Jaw clenched, he struggled toward the light that signaled what he hoped was a stairwell. His head pulsed with each small shuffle forward the ties allowed. When he began to feel sick, he rested. Then he started again, inching doggedly toward the light. It had to be the stairs, and at the top, the door. If he could just get out of this fucking dungeon, he could find her.
Sharp plastic cut more deeply into his wrists as he crawled. Zip ties, he surmised. At least his socks kept the plastic from digging into his ankles. He felt with his fingers and found nylon rope joining his wrists to his feet. That he could move this much told him he was not dealing with someone experienced at tying people.
Fucker, he thought viciously. He would make them pay.
As he neared the light, something caught his eye in the gloom. He inched closer, mildly surprised to find a tall, narrow bookshelf. That couldn’t be right. He didn’t remember seeing it, and yet… He inched closer and saw where the stone wall disappeared into the stairwell. They must have walked right past the bookshelf when they came downstairs.
