“It’s time to pay up.”
He stepped closer. Her heart beat so loud she was afraid he could hear it.
“What? Nothing to say? You had plenty to say the last time we were together. You said so much that I was run out of Morocco! Each port, your poor, pitiful cries of how I would fleece unsuspecting young tourists out of their innocence and their families out of their money bit at my heels until I could find no one to seduce. I had to work—work like a dog—in low-paying jobs that took my looks from me! But, now… now, it is time to repay me for what you have taken. I’ll take everything from you—your body, your boyfriend’s money, your beauty. Then, it will be women like you who will try to seduce me instead, yes?”
He reached out to caress her bruised cheek. He chuckled when she jerked her head back. Her eyes flashed a warning for him to keep his hands off her.
“But, I’m sure by now… you’re not so innocent anymore.” His voice turned mocking. “Such a shame. I could have been your first.” He leaned forward, his putrid breath making her want to gag, and whispered in her ear. “But, I promise I will be your last.”
“Go to hell,” she whispered, her hand tightening on her makeshift knife as he straightened.
She swallowed when he reached down, gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.
Her stomach churned.
He wasn’t going to let her leave—no matter what Alexandros paid. She knew it now, with a certainty that chilled her soul.
Her fingers tightened around the glass, the ragged edge digging into her palm.
The scream built in her throat.
She didn’t dare let it out.
Not yet.
Not until the right moment.
Zayan was three steps away when he froze, staring at the wall above her head. She looked up, seeing what he saw. A perfect, bloody handprint. A frown creased his face.
His gaze narrowed. A flicker of suspicion. Too late.
She knew that her time was up when his gaze slowly turned towards her.
Bruised. Bloodied. But not broken?—
Dani surged up like a demon from hell.
Ten
The glass trembled in Alexandros’s hand, ice clinking softly against the crystal.
He didn’t blink—just stared—then slowly set it on the tray beside the conference room’s minibar.
Bourbon. Untasted. He’d poured it out of habit, like a man acting on muscle memory.
His hand trembled, betraying the turmoil threatening to crush him.
He curled fingers into a fist—his knuckles whitening, his skin stretched tight. It didn’t help. Not really.
The sleek conference room—once a cradle of billion-euro deals—felt sterile. Cold.
The overhead lights hummed, their glow too sharp, too precise. It wasn’t a sanctuary anymore. It was a cage.
Behind the frosted glass walls, the command center buzzed like a hive—Demetrius had stayed behind to coordinate the ground teams. Drones hovered overhead. His brother’s team and private security were on the move. Theo’s voice crackled through the comms—calm, lethal, precise. A soldier’s voice.
Alexandros sat at the long table alone.
Utterly helpless…
