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“Nonsense.” Drag isn’t going along with a word I say. He vehemently shakes his head, taking a sip of his expensive scotch amidst the snickers of the others. “She is a part of one of the largest families in the area. Surely, her father wouldn’t leave her so completely unaware that it put her in danger. Which from this point onward, she shall never be again. I promise to be a kind and compassionate owner.” He flashes teeth at her
The gesture sets my own teeth on edge. “You can’t keep her,” I start.
“I’m not a prize to be won.” Isabella straightens further, her spine tense enough to snap. And with the other men circling, ready to close in on her?—
“She is my prize,” Drago tells me. “Not won, but taken. She is going to help me to establish myself in this area. Hell, this country.” He takes the seat across from me, and with the snap of his fingers, the rest of his men fall in line behind him. The scrawny one leers at Isabella too long, and my finger itches for the gun that isn’t at my back. Not when I knew we’d get searched at the door.
“I’ll be set up not only as a major player but bigger than either one of your families.” His smile shifts to something closer to sympathy. “The demolishing of the Accardi dynasty left a power vacuum, one unable to be satiated no matter how you both scrambled to fix the problem. It’s only natural for someone powerful to step into it. You understand. This is business.”
“Business,” I repeat dully.
“Absolutely. In my shoes, you would have done the same. Which is why I’m not sure what you think you’re here to accomplish tonight, son.”
I jolt at the pet name he’d used at the club. Motherfucker. He knows just what to say to get under my skin, and his friends know it, too. Neither one of them is familiar to me, and I wonder if the reports I’d gotten on the operation were full of some very important holes.
Isabella says nothing, her chin jutted out, and the glass clenched in her hand hard enough for the crystal to shatter. Her skin has gone unnaturally pale, offset by the deep blushing red of the silk dress.
“Bring her to me.”
Another snap, and the men move toward Isabella, one on either side of her with their hands on her elbows. I jerk my head to her, shaking it once to let her know not to fight.
A short yell of protest—and one she quickly swallows—is the only noise she makes as they bring her to stand in front of Drago. Her knees lock, and she sways slightly before steadying herself.
“Hmm, lovely. Even more beautiful tonight than when I first met you,” he murmurs. “My prize. Red is a good color for you. It brings out the green in your eyes.”
It’s more effort than I bargained to keep my seat when Drago rises to inspect her.
There is no exit from this without us going all the way, not at this point. If we try to leave, then I have no doubt he will truly go through with the promised devastation for both our people. And with his resources…he’d been right about the vacuum. It was a natural place for a competitor to step in, and we thought we’d be ready when the time came. Except none of us had thought far enough ahead to even consider Isabella a piece on the board.
Yet here we are in a space I never expected to be, and every part of me is crying out to get her the fuck out of here. I go still, watching the two of them. My brows furrow down into a straight line as I struggle to master myself. The urge to strike out, to reach behind me for the gun I hadn’t been able to bring and shoot all of these motherfuckers right through the head, refuses to quiet.
“Don’t you think she is lovely?” Drago asks no one in particular. He crowds Isabella, lurching toward her, his hand on her arm.
Her throat works, but she still says nothing.
There is only the merry crackle of logs in the fireplace, the unnecessary fire burning, to fill the room with sound. Only my harsh breathing and the way my pulse refuses to settle. Every part of me aches from forcing my body to remain on the couch and sip this fucking scotch like my life depends on it.
Not mine, I mentally correct. Hers.
Isabella’s eyes go unfocused, her attention straight at the wall ahead.
This is about control, yes, and also humiliation. For her and for me. Drago examines Isabella with unhurried glances, easy touches as if my looks-could-kill focus on him is absolutely insignificant. Right now, it is. She ducks her head, and her long hair hides her face, but a murmur goes up through his gathered men regardless.
They not only appreciate her, but they want. They crave. They would no doubt make their move and try to claim her for their own if given half the chance.
And Drago knows.
He owns her, and through her, he has a tether to me, and right now, there is only one person to blame for this: myself. I let her get out of hand, and here we are.
“Stunning, yes. I see why your family hid you away. Much more beautiful than your sisters.” He laughs, and the sound grates on my last nerves.
I tense, ready to pop off the couch if given the slightest bit of provocation. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, but only that. Not longer.
“Would you not agree with me?” Drago asks his men. “Look at these tits.”
He reaches for her and grabs one in his meaty palm, crushing her breast through silk. Isabella gasps, the sound lined with pain, and I shudder before lurching to my feet. Fighting through fury heavy enough to taste and fear that this will be my last stand.
“Enough,” I say. I’m instantly a few steps from the couch.
