“All your precious evidence.” He waves the papers in my face. “Everything you’ve gathered, every secret you thought you could use against me.” His laugh is hollow, cruel. “And now it’s mine.”
His familiar scent makes my stomach turn. Or maybe that’s the lack of oxygen. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision as his grip tightens. I try to kick, but he’s too close, and I feel about to faint.
“You really thought you could destroy me?” He leans closer, his breath hot against my face. “I’ve crushed better journalists than you. Smarter, stronger people who dared to challenge what’s mine.”
Despite the pain, despite the terror clawing at my chest, I feel laughter bubble up. It starts as a wheeze, growing stronger as his grip loosens slightly in confusion.
“What’s so funny?” he demands, shaking me.
I meet his gaze, letting my lips curl into a mocking smile. “You still… don’t get it… do you?”
His eyes narrow, that familiar anger flickering behind the ice. I use his momentary confusion to gulp in air, steadying myself.
“Those files?” I gesture weakly at my bag. “They’re copies. The originals…” I pause, savoring the flicker of uncertainty in his expression. “They’re already with the FBI and every major news outlet in Chicago.”
The color drains from his face. His grip loosens enough for me to speak clearly.
“Everything. The trafficking routes. The offshore accounts. The bribes.” Each word lands like a bullet. “Even Mother’s autopsy photos—the ones you paid to have buried.”
“You’re lying,” he snarls, but I hear the fear beneath his rage.
“Am I?” I laugh again, the sound raw and triumphant despite my position. “Check your phone, Ano. It should be breaking news by now.”
His eyes dart to his desk where his phone sits, its screen dark with possibility.
“You’re finished,” I whisper, watching panic crack his perfect mask. “Everything you’ve built, every lie you’ve told—it’s all crumbling down.”
Blood fills my mouth as he strikes again, this time catching my cheekbone. Each impact sends shockwaves through my skull.
“You worthless bitch!” His scream tears through the study. “I’ll kill you myself!”
Another blow rocks my head back. The world tilts sideways as my legs give out. The marble floor rushes up to meet me, cold against my skin. Blood drips from my lips, pooling beneath my cheek.
Ano’s voice cracks with hysteria. “My legacy! My empire!”
I try to push myself up, but my arms shake, refusing to support my weight. The room spins violently, making my stomach heave. I hear footsteps thundering closer through the haze—heavy boots on marble floors.
Remy. My heart clenches.Please be safe. Please let Declan reach him in time.
“I should have killed you years ago!” Ano’s voice seems distant now, distorted. “Just like your mother!”
My vision blurs, shapes and shadows bleeding together. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. Each breath sends pain shooting through my ribs, where he kicked me.
I attempt to stand again, but my head spins so violently I collapse. The footsteps are closer now, accompanied by shouts I can’t quite make out. All I can think about is Remy, praying he’s far from this house of horrors.
The world fades in and out as I lay there, my father’s unhinged screams echoing off the walls. Blood trickles down my temple, warm and sticky. Through the fog of pain, one thought remains clear—let Remy be safe.
Chapter 27
Pain radiates through my body, each breath a fresh reminder of Marcus’s handiwork. The flickering fluorescent light above casts sickly shadows across the basement’s concrete floor, highlighting dark stains I know aren’t rust. My wrists burn against the zip ties binding me to the metal chair, but the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the rage coursing through my veins.
Tools scatter the workbench to my left—pliers crusted with something dark, a cattle prod that had been Marcus’s favorite toy an hour ago, and an array of knives that speak of possibilities I refuse to contemplate. The basement air hangs heavy with the metallic scent of blood—my blood—and something else, something older and more sinister.
Eve’s face flashes through my mind. The determined set of her jaw, the fire in her eyes when she challenged me. The memory of her touch burns hotter than any wound Marcus has inflicted. Iforce down a wave of nausea as my ribs protest another shallow breath.
Footsteps echo from the stairwell. Marcus’s measured stride, followed by two men. The door creaks open, and they enter. Marcus approaches while the guards remain in the shadows.
I spit blood onto the floor. “Fuck you, Marcus. You’re losing time. You won’t get the codes for me.”
