It made no sense, he’d acknowledge that, but he needed to save her.
Not that she was in any immediate danger.
Not for the next thirty minutes at least.
Gus scooped her into his arms, carrying her quickly down into what had probably once been a dungeon, based on the barred openings on the doors. Since the last time he’d been here, someone had added new chains to the wall in the cleanest cell. The cuffs at the end of the chain were quick-release leather kink cuffs rather than steel cuffs or dungeon-appropriate thick manacles.
Unsure where else to take her, Gus brought her into the cell, setting Nikolett on her feet.
The instant he set her down, his gaze slid to the bandages peeking out the top of her shirt. She stared at him, expression blank with what was probably shock.
He traced the neckline of her shirt with one finger.
“Ho sento, querida.”
Nikolett hauled her arm back and slapped him. It took him by surprise, and she hit him hard enough that his ear rang.
“You piece of shit rapist son of a whore,” she snarled in Hungarian.
Gus rubbed his jaw, studying her out of the corner of his eye as the soft emotion that had bid him scoop her up and carry her to safety melted away.
“You should be afraid of me,” he said in the same language. “Especially if you saw the little video I made of you.”
Hurt and fear flashed in her gaze, and he hated himself.
She raised her hand again, but this time he caught her wrist.
She spit on him instead. “I don’t respect you enough to fear you.”
Gus’ lip curled and he wiped his cheek on his shoulder.
Then he squeezed her wrist until pain made her cheek twitch. If he wanted to, he could probably break her wrist just from this.
“Why?” she demanded through her teeth.
He knew what she was asking, but decided she hadn’t earned an answer.
Since someone had helpfully retrofitted this dungeon cell, he decided to make use of it. Catching one of the chains, he brought the cuff toward her wrist.
She fought him, managing to rake her nails across his face—dangerously close to his eye—as she screamed.
The rage that drove him, that horrible dark heat that made it impossible for him to find peace, took over. Gus grabbed her neck with his free hand and squeezed as he forced her back against the wall.
She tried to scream, but he squeezed tighter.
He leaned in. “There’s no point in screaming. They’re all busy looking for survivors.”
“You’re sure no one was in there?” Eric said for the fourth time.
“Yes. Everyone is accounted for.” Regina’s voice was weak and shaky with relief.
Side-by-side, they stared at what was left of the Spartan Guard house. Two stories of old stone with newly remodeled and retrofitted touches were currently a pile of rubble with a cloud of dust floating above it.
If anyone had been inside, he doubted they would have survived the collapse. Worse, if they somehow did manage to survive in a stable pocket, Eric doubted they’d have a way to get them out in time.
But Regina had called every member of the Spartan Guard to Triskelion the moment she left the dungeon. She’d held a briefing to bring everyone up to speed on the brother theory, then started assigning tasks.
That meant no one, not even the people technically off duty today, had been inside.
