“The bank…I couldn’t…maintenance,” I force out before the man wraps his fingers around my throat and squeezes.
“Not interested in your excuses. Dimitri wants his money and he wants it right fucking now.”
Struggling to suck in a breath, I claw and scratch at his arm, but he ignores my feeble attempts to hurt him and tosses me back onto the bed. My laptop bounces, and the motion wakes the machine. Five minutes after two. Oh, God. I fell asleep.
“Don’t hurt me,” I gasp. “I’ll send it. I just need…a minute.”
“I’m waiting.” He stands over me, his arms loose at his sides, his gaze fixed on me. When I press my finger to the sensor to log in, the first thing that pops up is a half-composed message to Max.
Max,
I need to talk to you in person. This is too sensitive for the phone or email. It’s about my past. About the man who trafficked me. Please tell me you have time for us to meet before the Beauty and Style junket.
-Sloane
The man grabs my braid and wrenches my head back with a snarl. “Do you know what will happen if you send that email?” He pulls a knife from his pocket and presses it to my temple. “I’ll get to do much more than slap you around a little.”
“I—I’ll delete it. R-right n-now!” The tip of the knife pierces my skin, and a single drop of blood trails down my cheek to my jaw. “Please!”
He stares into my eyes, and his are so gleeful, so full of anticipation, I know without a doubt he’ll kill me if I give him any excuse—but he won’t do it quickly.
As soon as he releases his hold on my hair, I rush to delete the email. “See? Done. I won’t talk to Max. Or anyone. Tell Dimitri. I promise. I wasn’t thinking. I just…I was scared.”
Why am I talking so much? Shut up, Sloane! Or you’re going to say something that’ll get you killed!
“I’ll tell him. Whether he believes me or not—well, you’ll find out soon enough. Now transfer the money.”
Tabbing over to the bank’s website, I do my best to hide at least some of my password from the hulking man standing next to my bed. He hasn’t put the knife away and twirls it so the tip glints in the low light.
Once I’m logged in, I chance a quick peek up at him. “The letter. It’s behind you. I need the account and routing numbers.”
He doesn’t move, just rattles off the codes, and two minutes later, the money’s on its way and my heart is hammering so hard, I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. I can feel each beat in my rapidly swelling cheek. He could kill me right now. I’m still logged in; he could take the eight thousand I have in that account and disappear. But Dimitri would find him. Just like he found me.
“Don’t be late next week, or we’ll spenda lotmore time together before I let you touch that computer.” Flicking the knife, he cuts through the strap of my tank top. “And I’ll get to see what all those surgeries bought you.” His fingers dig into my jaw, and he leans in to sniff my hair. “If you tell anyone about me, I’ll cut out your tongue before I have my way with you.”
And then he lets me go. I’m shaking so badly, I don’t trust myself to stand until I hear the front door click shut. Stumbling into the bathroom, I barely make it to the toilet before I vomit. I’m fucked. Dimitri will never let me go.
Chapter Six
Sloane
As the plane starts its descent, I pull out my emergency makeup bag. The yellowing bruise spreads from my cheek all the way up to my right eye, and after a six-hour flight, I need a touch up.
Dotting the concealer wand over the slightly swollen skin, I grit my teeth so I don’t wince. There’s a bruise twice as big on my hip where my attacker slammed me to the ground, but that one I can explain away.
Oh, I’m just a klutz and fell on a run.
No one will doubt me. Marina will give her standard lecture about how I should be more careful, and then she’ll cover it up with the same body paint she uses to hide tattoos. But my face? She can spot a makeup faux pax across a room in dim lighting. There’s no way I’ll be able to hide this from her.
Why couldn’tBeauty and Stylebook me on a flight thatdidn’tgo through New York City? Because of the time change, Max told them I’d need an overnight stay in the city before continuing to Zurich with Marina tomorrow evening.
She lives in New York, and when she found out they’d not only selected half a dozen of my photos for their Christmas Book but also gave me thecover, she screamed into the phone for a good five minutes.
What the hell am I going to do? I kept the attack a secret from everyone—even Max. The man who hurt me knew how to bypass my security system. What if Dimitri put a camera in my home? I lost all day Thursday searching bookshelves, every nook and cranny I hadn’t dusted in way too long—even my nightstand and under my bed. But I found nothing.
Marina’s going to notice the damage to my face. Layers of foundation and concealer, styling my hair to drapejust so—that won’t do shit in the face of Marina’s trained eye.
With a sigh, I turn away from the window. Flying into New York City always triggers bad memories, and today is no different. I’d close the window shade, but the teenage girl next to me—traveling with her mother—points excitedly at the Statue of Liberty.
