Page 29 of Brutal Truths

That tone might work on others. Not me.

Newsflash, you cockwomble, I’m not just anyone. I don’t appreciate it, and I’m not about to let it intimidate me into bowing to his will.

“Fuck you!” My voice rings out, matching his volume and intensity. “I will not sit down! Take me back to my room!”

Rising, he seizes my arm, his fingers biting into my flesh hard enough to leave a bruise.

But when he speaks, his voice is eerily calm. “Fine. I’ll take you back to your room.”

We move.

He probably used to his long legs being an advantage when he’s dragging women with shorter ones wherever the hell he wants them. But I’m not short.

This is where my height works in my favor. It’s not easy, but I keep up. Even though I’m practically jogging, the burn in my legs builds as we race up the stairs to the second floor.

The stairs are shit. The third step from the top wobbles, enough to trip Rurik up. The flash of irritation that crosses his face is brief—but satisfying.

At the top, we head down the musty hallway where Marvin waits in the doorway. He’s shaking his head as he peers into the room.

The sound of our feet coming down the hall catches his attention, and he turns.

Wow!

Marvin’s face is a wreck. A swollen black eye and a split lip, the aftermath of a brutal punch. Serves him right. Wish I knew who to thank.

Marvin takes a step back, his throat catching before he clears it with a small, nervous cough. “We’re still cleaning up. Didn’t expect you back so quickly.”

“Don’t care. Leave.”

“But—”

“Fucking leave! Everyone,” Rurik shouts, and two men dressed in black rush out of the room, latex gloves slick and dark.

They’ve been cleaning. Or trying to. But they are nowhere near done.

A body still lies on the bed where I remember it falling. Another is sprawled across the floor, staring up at the ceiling—at least, half of his face is. The other half is splattered across the wall and floor.

The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, an unpleasant perfume that has me gagging. I break free from Rurik’s grip and sprint to the bathroom, nausea hitting fast and hard.

I collapse over the open toilet, gripping the white seat as I violently empty what little water I drank moments earlier. A sour, acidic taste scorches my throat.

A door slams.

The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot, and I scramble to my feet, heart pounding as panic surges. I stumble out of the bathroom and drop to my knees in front of the door, fists crashing against the solid wood.

“Open the damn door!” I yell at the arsehole who locked me in here to make a point.

He doesn’t, and I don’t stop.

“You really are a bloody bastard, you know that?” The sight in the bedroom makes me gag a second time, my voice weakening with each word. “Fuck you!! Fuck you! Fuck you.”

“Keep that up and you’ll be spending the night in there.” Anger pours from his voice like venom. “You wanted to return to your room. Said you were done.”

My jaw clenches, fists tightening as his words sink in. I swallow the bitter response clawing its way up my throat and say nothing.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Maybe time alone with Tank and Urick will do you some good. Give you a chance to reflect on why crossing me isn’t something you want to do.” He keeps his voice low. “You may be my daughter, but that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate disrespect. I may not kill you, but I will make your life a living hell.”

His voice trails off, replaced by the slow, rhythmic thud of heavy footsteps retreating down the hall.