Priorities, Gigi!
I reel back, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and hurl the key out the window with all the force I can muster. It arcs through the air—a fleeting glimmer in the dusk—before it vanishes into a tree’s foliage.
I nod sharply at Henri. Instantly, we’re in motion, racing toward the door. Our footsteps echo in a rapid staccato against the corridor’s floor. We bolt down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Down one floor, then another. The steps blur into a dizzying spiral. My heart pounds inside my chest. I reach into the secret pocket of my jeans for the panic pager. But my fingers are too clumsy to clasp it.
I hate multitasking while running for my life!
My fingers finally close around the pager. I yank it free, but in my haste, it slips through my sweaty grip and tumbles down the last flight of stairs, clattering with each bounce. My eyes track its descent as I curse under my breath.
As soon as I reach the bottom, I dash to scoop it up. I’m only a few steps away when figures in SWAT gear ambush us. Theymaterialize out of thin air from the shadows and corners, and it’s scary as hell.
Rough hands grab my arms and pull them behind my back with a force that makes me wince. I struggle, trying to twist away, but their grip is ironclad.
Beside me, Henri throws punches with the desperation of a cornered animal. Each hit he lands is met with a barrage of blows in return. He’s severely outnumbered and fighting a battle he can’t win. A fear more chilling than any I’ve experienced before grips my heart.
“Henri, please!” I scream. “Stop fighting! They’ll kill you!”
But he doesn’t yield until his face is red pulp, and he’s on the floor with four men holding him down. Kurt’s agents search us. They confiscate our phones and the pager. My last hope of alerting Elias’s squad vanishes with it.
Moving with ruthless efficiency, Kurt’s mercenaries bind our hands with zip ties. The plastic bites into my skin. I twist and pull, but it’s futile. The ties are unyielding.
Henri bellows, “If you hurt her, if you touch a hair on her head, I’ll kill you all!”
“Do you think I’m some kind of thug?” one of the masked men responds calmly.
“That’s exactly who you are!” Henri blasts at him.
I zero in on the man. He’s shorter, thinner and no doubt older than the rest of the assailants. Besides, I’ve heard that voice before—rusty with age, and packaged into a flawless upper-crust accent that would put Mother’s to shame.
It’s Kurt Ozzi!
In an even tone, Kurt says, “Please know that I am a gentleman, Monsieur de Bellay. My men will not hurt the princess if she cooperates. Or if you do, for that matter.”
With that, he orders his men to take us to different rooms. Strong hands grab me by the arms and shoulders and push me away from Henri.
“You, ugly, stinky, rotten piece of shit!”I scream at Kurt, my gentile upbringing forgotten.
“Shut your mouth!” one of the mercenaries barks.
Kurt gives him an icy stare. “You’re talking to a princess.”
“Shut your mouth, Your Highness,” the smart aleck corrects himself.
I turn my head toward Henri. “Tell them nothing! He’s bluffing! He won’t dare?—”
One of Kurt’s men clasps a hand against my mouth while another gags me. They gag Henri, too, before they drag him away.
As they march me through the château, they take me farther from Henri and closer to an ordeal. Silently I pray,Please, make it so that Henri bought my lie about Kurt bluffing!If he does, he won’t tell them where to look for the key.
It wasn’t an empty threat, though. Kurt’s men will probably hurt me.They didn’t hesitate to torture Camille, my cousin Louis’s wife.
Gentleman, my ass!
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kurt’s men haul me into a small room. I’m pushed against the wall. Rough hands pat me down again, looking for the key no doubt. They check every pocket of my jeans, including the inner ones, and unfold the pant cuffs. My shoes and socks are removed, each one turned inside out and every seam inspected. The cold floor beneath my feet only adds to my discomfort.
