The door behind us opens, and Clyde enters the room, adjusting his cuffs. He shoots Zane a murderous look when he sees his fingers wrapped around my bicep. “If you want to keep the use of your right hand, keep your filthy fingers to yourself.”
“Right,” Zane says, dropping his hand. “Don’t want to taint the merchandise.”
I grind my jaw, keeping every foul thing I want to scream locked behind my teeth. I know if I lose control, it will jeopardize this meeting the men have worked so hard to set up.
Part of me wonders if Reaper had a feeling that Rune would use me this way. If this was his plan when he sent me back. He had to know Rune would do anything, use any means, to get close to them.
It makes me wonder how much of this plan he’s manipulated. Fucking us that night in Rune’s club. Taking me along with Delilah.
Sending me back.
Me in this room, right now.
I take a deep breath and smile at Zane. If it means I have to shove any last bits of pride down to the depths of hell to stay in Rune’s good graces, then I will. Reaper wants information.
“Shall we get to it?” I ask, turning toward Viper and Breaker, and stalking toward the table where they stand.
That’s when I notice the weapons.
I pause mid-stride, reminding myself not to react, not to look at the men, but I fail on one count—reacting—but succeed by looking at Zane.
“Are we training to be Samurai now?” I ask, doing my best to cover my misstep as I approach.
When I reach a chair, intending to sit, Zane grips my arm. “Whores don’t sit at the table,” he says, pointing to the bar where Clyde’s slowly lowering himself onto a stool, his body rigid with rage. “Go sit like a good little bitch until they’re ready to test the goods.”
My shoulders stiffen. I let out a slow, steady breath, my cheeks heating.
“Then I guess you’ll be taking the seat next to me.” I point to the bar. “You know, where the whores sit.”
“Cora,” Clyde warns.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Zane says. He snaps, and the dark-haired guard standing behind Breaker stalks toward me and grips my arm. He drags me back toward Clyde, wholooks like he’s about to burst out of his skin. I jerk my arm from his grasp, smoothing down my dress, trying to calm the boiling in my blood.
The guard pulls out a stool, taps my ass and gives it a pinch. “Sit down, pretty girl.” He winks. “Be a good girl.”
My hands fist, nails digging into my palms. Shame makes my heart race. Seems the fall from ruin lands me in the gutter. The humiliation of all the years I let Rune touch me to keep myself in his good graces has led me here. The fact that the men around me know it makes it so much worse. I’m forced to be grateful for this fucked-up situation because he’s literally handing me over to them instead of Zane. Or someone else. I’m not even allowed the dignity of fighting it.
Because I would. I would fight this tooth and nail if I didn’t know the men.
I glance at Clyde. He’s watching me, like he’s waiting. He knows me well enough that I, Cora Julian, daughter of the disgraced Caroline Julian, the most ruthless businesswoman to ever grace the underworld of Miami, would never tolerate being called a whore or being shoved around by Zane.
Steeling my spine, I face the guard. “What is your name?”
A slick smile forms. “Damon.”
“Well, Damon, how about this?” I lean in, smiling sweetly. “Touch me again and I’ll use your pistol to shoot off every finger you used to grope me.”
Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I turn and stalk across the room, my heels clicking on the glossy floor, each step precise and defiant. I stop before the table laid out with various swords and knives, and plant my palms on the cool surface, leaning forward until I can see the flecks of gold in Viper’s irises, then shift to meet Breaker’s unflinching gaze. The corner of his mouth twitches. A faint smile, barely there, then gone, but my pulse jumps anyway.
“It appears my associate forgets his manners,” I say. “I’m Rune Gavin’s adopted daughter and accountant. The same person who drafted the papers for the hotel acquisitions.”
“Oh, I remember you.” Viper’s voice drops an octave, a hint of an accent curling around the words like smoke. “You’re a hard one to forget.”
“Just sit down, Cora,” Zane says, tone bored as he gestures to the empty chair. “I want to get this over with.”
Viper stands, pulling out the seat next to him, and I lower myself, glaring at Zane. “Need a coke break already?” I ask him, settling into the seat.
“Feisty,” Viper says, looming over me. He snags a loose curl, wrapping it around his finger. “I like a little fight.”
