Page 50 of Colton

In the middle of it is an unconscious Giovanni Maxwell.

Tied to a chair.

With one of his shoes missing.

“This, my dear brother, is Mr. Maxwell,” Dahlia slaps my back gently, and Clyde snorts from beside her. “This is a ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ kind of situation.”

“No, it’s not,” I finally get my mobility back, then glare at her as I turn to face her. “You dragged me into this. Jesus Christ, Dahlia! I’d expect this from Clyde, but from you? Seriously, what the hell were you thinking?”

“She was thinking that once you got involved, you wouldn’t be able to do anything but support her future endeavors regarding this subject, since she’ll be using this scene against you,” Clyde says, a smirk on his face.

“Dear God,” I mutter under my breath, “I’ll have the attorney team prepared.”

Dahlia snorts. “We won’t need it. You worry too much.”

I’m looking at her, bewildered. “Do you not understand that you didn’t just drug a random person, Dahlia? This man is a politician of our country, with a high standing, too!” I hiss. “The moment the public gets the wind of this, we’re doomed.”

“That’s only if the public learns about this,” Clyde chimes in, and instantly I want to strangle him. “If I play this right — meaning, the two of you stay out of my way — he’ll talk. And once he talks, there’s no going back.”

I sit on the bed, and I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. If this isn’t the first sign of a heart attack, I don’t know what is. With a deep breath, I rub my temples, knowing that a migraine will quickly follow.

“This is a moronic plan, you two do realize that, right?”

Both of them nod. Clyde’s smirk is still there while he’s leaned against the wall in the corner, his eyes never leaving Maxwell’s unconscious body. The man stirs a little, though his eyes remain closed, his breathing even.

“What exactly did you use?”

“My personal mix,” Clyde responds, pride in his voice. “It’s my first time using it, so I have no idea when he’ll wake up.”

My eyes snap to his face, and his completely undisturbed expression is starting to disturb me. “Excuse me? You experimented? Have you lost your mind? You could’ve killed him.”

He shrugs. “Eh, it was worth the risk. Now, shush. I think he’s starting to wake up.”

Immediately, I retreat to the dark corner of the room, with a chair drawn. My goal is to observe, and to offer moral support, and if need be, to draw my weapon. Though, given the state of Maxwell, I highly doubt that’d be necessary.

Dahlia approaches him, slowly. She tilts her head to the side, watching him for a moment, before she sucks a sharp breath, and then it happens — before I can process everything. She raises her hand, and slaps the living crap out of Maxwell.

Which wakes him up.

I’m not surprised; a slap like that would wake the dead.

He’s disoriented, and he groans quietly. His eye lids are moving, and he’s blinking profusely as he tries to see into the dimmed room. His cheek begins to redden from the force of Dahlia’s slap, and even Clyde seems impressed by her actions.

His eyes finally open, and at first, his face is filled with confusion. He’s looking between Clyde and Dahlia, unable to comprehend the situation, or what caused him to end up being tied to a chair.

Then, his face morphs into shock, and rage. His brows lift, nearly touching his hairline, and his jaw tightens. He regains full control over his body, and he tries to shake the binds off him. He is, however, unsuccessful.

The rope is tightly secured around his waist, his feet, and his wrists are tied behind his back. He’s trashing and turning, until he realizes that he isn’t strong enough to break the rope by sheer willpower alone..

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice is low, and menacing. He isn’t the type to show fear, and even I have trouble reading his expression right now. Aside from the immense amount of rage, he clearly isn’t trying to hide. “Untie me right this instant.”

Dahlia makes a tsking noise and sits on the bed, crossing one leg over the other, and simply stares at him with unblinking eyes, and an unchanging expression. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be making any demands, Mr. Maxwell,” she says, voice cool and icy.

“You see, we’re the ones who will be asking the questions today.” Clyde says, as he pats Maxwell’s shoulder. It’s such a condescending gesture that even I mentally applaud him for the move. Maxwell notices it, too, and he is not pleased.

“You do realize I’m not one of the hooligans you’re used to dealing with, right?” Maxwell asks, the hypothetical question landing sharply. “This isn’t something you’ll be able to sweep under the rug, even if you do have powerful families.”

My jaw clenches, and I’m glad I’ve chosen to remain hidden. Not because I’m scared of his pathetic, little threat, but because if I was near him, I likely would’ve broken his jaw for daring to threaten my sister.