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The sharp blade in his hand slices effortlessly through my cotton shirt and athletic shorts, leaving me nearly bare beneath him. My screams are muffled by the thick blanket beneath my face, and I continue to fight against the hefty weight pinning me to the bed.
“Feisty little bitch, aren’t you?” he laughs over the unmistakable sound of his zipper. I try to fight harder, but he’s so fucking heavy, bearing down on me that I can barely move.
“Time to pay up.” He shoves a knee between my tightly clenched thighs, his broad leg forcing them to part as he leans his weight against me. Placing vile, rough kisses against his carving on my shoulder, the tip of his cock brushes against my upper thigh.
BANG!
The second the deafening sound echoes through the room, every ounce of his weight is off me.
“What the fuck?” he snarls from behind me.
“I believe I was quite fucking clear that you don’t put your cock in her.” Lifting my head, I find Madame standing in the doorway, pointing her gun at Adam.
“She’s a useless fucking whor?—”
BANG!
The bullet punctures the wall a few inches from his head, and he stands motionless as she crosses the room to him. Without another word, she slaps him across the face.
“Do I need to get one of my other men to carve my name into your cock?” She slaps him again. “So every time you want to get your jollies in some tight, young cunt, you remember that my pussies are off-limits?”
“No, ma’am.” He vehemently shakes his head.
“Then put your fucking cock away, and get the fuck out of my sight.”
Adam zips up so fast that it’s a miracle it doesn’t guillotine his own dick as he scurries from the room.
“Thank you,” I sigh as I pull the blankets around me to cover myself.
“I didn’t do it for you.” Her tone is flat and cold. “If I let him fuck your worthless cunt, it’s just letting the others know they can get away with fucking my girls for free. My clientele isn’t looking for sloppy seconds in working-class spunk.”
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t care why she did it.
“Clean yourself up,” she demands as she walks toward the door. “You’re bleeding all over my Egyptian cotton sheets.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
SAMUEL
“Samuel!” Abigail’s name carries through the house. “He’s got something.”
For someone who I’m pretty sure absolutely despised me a few weeks ago, Grant has been working tirelessly to help find Cora. Everyone has.
And I’m really not certain why.
Steadily making my way across the house, I find Grant exactly where I left him a few hours ago. Hunched over a laptop at my dining room table, clicking away at the keyboard.
The phone number I gave him didn’t get us very far. He managed to trace it to a business in Greensboro. The Emerald Gentlemen’s Club. William paid a visit that night, only to find that the address was nothing more than an abandoned lot.
It's taken a substantial amount of digging to wade through the shell corporations, but we finally found Madame. Or at least her name. Anneliese Rotschilde.
Likely not her real name, but the same name each and every one of her properties and businesses are listed under. Right down to the monthly bill of her internet provider.
We found her two hours ago, and as much as I was raring to go in guns blazing, the others were happy to allow Grant a little more time to do what it is that he does best—or at least what it has made him a large fortune.
“I told you,” he says, spinning the laptop in my direction as I enter the room. “You don’t become as powerful and invisible as she is without some help. And a little dirt on some important people in powerful places.”
