Page 187 of To Catch a Sub

“Huh, that’s not much, given the value of the paintings,” Mateus mused.

Rolf put the file aside and looked at Landon, who in turn looked at Colette.

Her amusement faded.

Landon helped her sit up, swinging her legs down. “I’m going to hold you,” he said. “While Rolf takes them out.”

“It’s going to hurt?”

“It shouldn’t,” Rolf said slowly. “I smoothed down all the sharp places.”

“Shouldn’t,” she repeated.

Landon switched places with her, bracing himself on the side of the chair seat and spreading his legs, then pulling her back against him. Landon wrapped one arm around her ribs, just below her breasts, the other above them, holding her torso still and her arms trapped at her sides.

The cut rings still dangled from her nipples, the pull even more painful after all the poking and prodding. The charms were gone, and she was grateful for that.

Andrei stood beside Landon, holding two pads soaked in orange-brown liquid.

“Once they’re out, Andrei will put the iodine on, then a bandage,” Rolf said. “They will heal fast. Assuming there’s no infection, the holes will close in a matter of days, if not hours.”

She was glad, but right now she didn’t care about anything beyond getting through these next moments.

“Do it, please,” she said when Rolf hesitated. “I can’t take…I want him off me. Out of me.”

Landon tightened his hold as Rolf stepped forward.

He did it fast, the pain sharp as he slipped first one, and then the other, ring free.

Colette screamed through her teeth, glad Landon was holding her. Andrei painted each nipple with iodine, then slapped on prepped bandages. Landon took over, running his thumb over the sticky parts to make sure the bandages adhered to her breasts.

“It’s over,” Landon said. “It’s over, love.”

Colette turned and climbed into his lap, wrapping herself around him. She buried her face in his neck and let herself cry every tear she hadn’t shed while Damien hurt her.

FORTY-ONE

“Coventry,” Colette read, “is a cathedral city in West Midland county.”

Landon lounged beside her in the first-class train seat, keeping one hand on her thigh as she read information off her new phone.

He’d ridden the direct train from Euston station to Coventry more times than he could count when he worked in London, because he’d tried to come home at least once a month. Since moving to Manchester, it had been harder to get home.

That’s where he was taking Colette. Home.

“After an economic crisis in the 1990s, Coventry has recently seen a resurgence in both prosperity and population.”

“We aren’t going to Coventry proper,” he said.

“Oh?” She turned, leaning against the window to look at him.

“Coventry is the closest city. We’re actually going to Leamington Hastings.”

“L, e, m” she murmured as she typed.

“L, e, a, m” he corrected.

“There’s not much information.”