I roll my eyes as he pushes through some plastic sheeting, and we come out into a huge space, flooded with brightness from enormous lights above our heads.
Men in the distance work on cars, talking in low voices. More boxes and equipment are stacked against the walls, and there’s endless movement around us as workers bustle to and from their posts. But it’s ominously quiet.
The glint of cut glass catches my eye, and my fingers clench against my sweating palms.
A small table with two chairs placed opposite each other has been set in the middle of a space free of clutter. I’m shoved into one of the chairs as Nick removes his cape with a flourish and sits opposite me.
There’s a bottle of champagne and two beautiful glasses in front of me as if we’re about to have a fancy dinner together.
This guy is such a fucking shmuck.
Monroe gives a little wave, and one of the men behind me steps back, while the other secures my tied hands to the chair. I wince at the tightness of the knot, his rancid breath wafting over my face.
Monroe tuts as he looks up at the man on my left.
“You’re dripping blood on my floor,” he says conversationally as I hear a horrible, gurgling sniff from the guard, and a glob of red spit lands a foot from me on the ground. “Please forgive these brutish oafs, Jax,” Nick mutters. “They don’t know how to behave in front of a lady.”
He pours champagne as I stare at him, fighting an absurd urge to laugh. It’s like he’s watched every single gangster movie on repeat and is trying to win a prize for the best cliché.
“Now, we touched on this subject a little while ago, Jax,” he says, rising from his chair and coming to stand beside me.
He tucks a curl of hair behind my ear, making my skin crawl as he picks up the glass closest to me and raises it to my lips.
The rim hovers inches from my face as I keep my mouth clamped closed, but when he sighs and presses it against my lower lip, I have no choice but to open for him.
A sip of the champagne passes into my mouth. I’m thirsty after lying for hours on a concrete floor, but this is the opposite of what I want to drink. It’s sour, bubbling, bitter. I swallow as he makes a little contented sound at the back of his throat and runs a finger down my neck before returning to his seat.
Picking up his glass, he sips it approvingly. “Scott has really miscalculated things, I’m afraid,” he murmurs.
I don’t move, distracted by the guard behind Monroe, who is holding a hand to his ear. He glances at one of the others before discreetly walking back toward the other end of the room, where I can see a gleam of light.
Is that the street? If I stand up, could I run fast enough to reach it with a chair attached to my ass?
“I think it’s rather rude of him to attempt to attack me,” Nick continues, taking another sip of his drink. “Particularly when he owes mequiteenough already. I mean, I could have killed him by now.”
I don’t reply, testing my bonds, flexing one wrist then the other.
“The debt is substantial, but I’m afraid I’m going to need something else. Something sweeter,” he says, his eyes shining.
He cocks his head to one side. “Do you understand my meaning, Jax? If you and I can come to some sort ofarrangement, we can forget all of this ever happened. Wouldn’t that be better?”
Only a few days ago, I looked at this man and entertained the possibility of letting him touch me to save my brothers. Now, the idea is so repulsive I have to fight to keep the sneer off my face.
“What do you think?” he asks.
He’s rocking back in his chair, watching me carefully, the champagne glass held loosely in his fingers. I don’t reply.
As the silence stretches, another guard follows the other, looking around curiously. Something’s happening,
Have my brothers escaped?
“Jax.”
My eyes snap back to Monroe, and he raises his eyebrows.
“I asked you a question.”
I don’t reply.
