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Chapter Ten
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The pain felt like she’d stabbed me all over again.
White hot agony burst through me, causing me to rock in the seat and stamp my feet against the floor to try to stop myself from going insane. The movement acted as an outlet to the pain instead of screaming like a little girl.
I came to a standstill and pressed my forearms best I could against the wound which had already started to bleed again. My mind swam, but I clutched onto consciousness, determined not to black out again. I wasn’t going to let her think I was weak, even though she had gotten the better of me once. I didn’t intend to let there be a second time, though my current situation of being strapped to a chair didn’t exactly put me in the best of positions. I wasn’t in my job for no good reason, though, and unless she lifted that gun and put a bullet in my head, I knew I would be able to figure a way out of this situation. She wanted information from me, and as long as I looked like I was playing ball, while still holding enough back for her to need to keep me alive, I would stay alert for any possibilities.
The blinding pain gradually dulled to a throb, which felt like it pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.
I looked up at the woman responsible for my torture. She stood, her hip jutted out to the side as she stared at me with cold calculation and just a little spark of, what—satisfaction?—in her eyes.
Crazy bitch, yet I couldn’t help but admire what she’d done. She’d noticed me getting smart and so reset my attention to her. It hurt like a motherfucker, but she’d done the right thing. I knew because I would have done exactly the same.
I wanted to take her down, just like I’d been paid to do, but the longer I spent in her time, the more she intrigued me. Part of me felt as though I was sitting here watching a female version of myself—a female version with a mouth that looked like it was designed purely with kissing in mind, and a body straight out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Tall and slender, but with curves in all the right places, combined with the silky black hair and the tattoos, made me struggle to think about anything other than how she would feel under my tongue, and how tight she would be when I pushed myself inside her.
A tingling rush tightened my balls and blood flooded to my dick, causing it to stiffen. I made myself focus on my situation rather than the hot curves and sexy mouth of the woman before me.
It seemed my cock wanted to be the one in charge at the moment, and I was a little concerned that would end up getting me killed.
“If the other men weren’t with you,” she said, continuing where she’d left off, “tell me who they worked for, and what they were doing here.”
“I already told you,” I replied through gritted teeth. “I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea. Be inventive.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You want me to make something up?”
“I want you to use your knowledge of the situation to make a sensible guess.”
I thought for a moment, and then spoke. “My best guess is an enemy of your father is out for revenge.”
Her dark eyes widened in surprise. “Revenge? Killing me wouldn’t be revenge. After all, he sent you here to do the same thing. Wouldn’t that be them helping him out?”
“For you, yes, but not for your sister.”
She visibly stiffened at the mention of her sibling. Interesting. Her sister might be her one weakness. I didn’t know how I could use this to my advantage, but I would certainly try if the opportunity arose.
“How would they use my sister?” she asked.
“Your father still loves your sister, right? He blames you for all of this. So I’d say his enemies might take a certain pleasure in using your sister in whatever way they wanted.”
I realized I’d just told her who had sent me, though I figured she’d worked it out pretty quickly anyway.
She went pale beneath her caramel skin. “She’s seventeen!”
“You really think that would make a difference?”
Her face became a taut mask of rage. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that.”
“You think me not talking about it is going to make any difference to what they would want to do to her?”
She stalked toward me and I actually found myself rearing away from her, a trickle of unease filtering through my veins. Unease was a foreign emotion to me—emotion in general was foreign to me—and I didn’t like the way it felt.
Her hand shot out and she clutched the wound in my forearm, squeezing hard, digging in her nails. A fresh burst of pain exploded through me, and I yanked myself away as best I could.
“Don’t ever mention that again, do you hear me?” she spat. “I don’t talk about things like that!”
