“You want a story?” she says softly. “Fine.”
She moves around me in a slow arc, heels clicking softly. I turn to keep her in view, my pulse loud in my ears.
“My mother died when I was nine. She was everything. My father, however…” Her lip curls. “He wasn’t a grieving widower. He was an alcoholic with debts and a sick fascination with selling anything he could. Including me.”
My stomach heaves.
“He’d bring men home,” she continues flatly. “Tell me to smile. To ‘earn my keep.’ I learned early that men only take. That they destroy anything soft.”
Her gaze spears me. “So I became something they couldn’t destroy.”
“Clarissa…” I whisper.
“Don’t pity me,” she snaps, then softens. “Or do. I don’t care.”
She glides to the bar cart and pours a drink. “Rich men funded my escape. Your father was just the latest. His empire happened to be… useful. Those offshore accounts will guarantee I never kneel for a man again.”
She steps in close, one manicured finger under my chin. “Now give me the numbers.”
I swallow. “If I do… you’ll let me go?”
A smile like ice. “Oh, Cassadie. No. You’re a liability.”
My heart drops.
I inhale slowly. “You lost leverage the second Harry released Shay. By now, Wyatt will know I’m gone.”
At that, Clarissa’s expression hardens. She shoots Harry a murderous look. He shifts uneasily.
“If you want the numbers,” I say, “you’ll have to kill me.”
She smirks. “Kill you? No. I have men who extract information very effectively. Painfully. Patiently.”
Something rises inside me—fear, yes, but also strength. Something Wyatt built in me piece by piece. I’m not running anymore.
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re out of luck. I’m not your victim.”
Clarissa’s smile sharpens. “Harry, take her to the lodge. The sublevel. We’ll have privacy.”
Harry steps forward?—
A gunshot cracks the air. The man beside me jerks, then crumples. Blood sprays the wall behind him in a fine mist.
AnotherPOP.
The second guard’s knees buckle. His gun skitters across the floor, spinning to a stop against the baseboard.
Harry’s arm is still raised, his gun aimed at Clarissa.
He just killed them both.
Clarissa's scream tears through the ringing in my ears. “WHAT ARE YOU?—”
The door slams open. The third guard barrels in, weapon raised.
Harry fires first. The shot lands, felling the guard, but not before he squeezes off a round of his own.
Harry jerks as the bullet slams into his shoulder. He stumbles, swearing, and his gun slips from his grasp, skittering across the floor.
