“Nina is dead. I never want to hear that name on your lips. Ever again.” Cold and firm, her expression locked up with bubbling fury.
“I don’t understand... What are you doing here? This is a whorehouse.”
“Yes, it is. Andyouare the reason I’m here,” she snarled. “But it was the best thing to happen to me. My life before was the real enslavement—forced to cook, clean, be the perfect demure wife, dress right, talk right. Be your punching bag when you were drunk, and spread my legs for alousylay.” Fire spurted through each word, her figure moving closer to the bed. “Now I get paid tofuckan endlessstream of men... all night long. Every delicious orgasm I used to have to fake with you? They pour money in my hand for them. I’m finally who I want to be. I’m free of you.” She flipped around, marching out of the room.
“Wait. Nina—” He tried to sit up, falling back down, coughing, weak from his injury and blood loss.
Warwick peered at me, a question in his eyes.
Well . . . fuck.
My goal still hadn’t changed: I needed my father’s journal. But turning back to Vincent, rage at what he had done to my friend set my blood on fire. I wanted to rip him apart for the pain and agony he caused her, for forcing her into this life.
A noise twisted in my throat, my temper taking over. I sprang for him, my hands already swinging, ready to break every bone in his body.
“Whoaaaa...” Warwick grabbed me by the waist in a blink, pulling me back. “Easy there.”
“Let me go.” I wiggled forward, landing one hard punch to Vincent’s face before Warwick lifted me off my feet, dragging me to the corner.
“Calm down.” He placed me down, standing in front of me, blocking my way. His hands cupped my face, his body immersing us in our own little world. “You won’t get any information out of a dead man.”
“I can try.”
He grinned, enjoying my fire. “Stop making my dick hard, Kovacs.”
I rolled my eyes with a huff, my shoulders easing.
“I’m not telling you anything.” Vincent wheezed behind us, turning us to him, his face drenched in sweat. “I will only talk to my wife.”
“Not a chance,faszszopó.”Dick sucker, I spat, Warwick gripping my arms to keep me in place. “I won’t let you near her again.”
“Then you get nothing.” His chest spasmed, blood hacking out of his mouth. “And you will never find them. I promise you that.” He took an agonizing breath. “I want to see my wife.”
“We don’t have much of a choice,”Warwick said through the link, keeping the conversation private.
“He used to beat her! No... no way.”My head shook.
“What is our other option? These guys are notorious for a reason.No one has been able to find their hideout. How bad do you want the journal back?”
Fuck. My lids shut, knowing the answer to that.
I hated what I was going to ask her to do. Negotiate with her abuser.
Seething, I stomped out of the room, slamming the door. I quickly found Rosie in the main living space, staring out the window. Morning was breaking over the buildings; the sun’s rays streamed in dully, the early light nibbling away at the chilly shadows. The house was silent and still. Customers were long gone, the workers fast asleep.
Quietly, I walked over to her, the wood floors creaking underneath me. Her lips pursed, but she didn’t turn to me.
“Rosie?” My voice sounded timid and raw in the vacant room. When she didn’t reply, I repeated her name. “Rosie...”
She let out a dry huff, her head lowering. “Did you know Rosie was the name of a character I played? It was my greatest performance.” She sniffed, brushing at her cheek. “It was right when I met Vincent. I was the toast of the theater circle. The darling ingenue.” She wiped her other cheek. “Everyone told me I was destined for fame. I truly believed I would be some famous actress in London or on Broadway in America.” A choked cry parted her lips.
Not someone good with comforting people, I stayed quiet, listening to her story.
“Now look at me.” She motioned down at herself, still in a lace bustier and silk robe. “The only part I’m playing is the English rose—the whore.”
“You are not a whore.” I shook my head.
“That’sallI am.” She faced me, tears streaking down her face. “Think that’s all I’ve ever been in one way or another.” She glanced back out the window again. “You can’t stand there and tell me it’s not true; even you believe it.” A slice of anger and resentment tacked on to the end of her words.
