“Cold,” she mumbles, the word thick and slurred.
“I had to check you for weapons.” I stay sitting in the chair across from hers as she fights her way to consciousness. It was the first thing I did when I brought her back to my penthouse. I found one more knife strapped to an ankle holster, and an ether-soaked cloth tucked in her jacket pocket.
Then again, she could have shot me less than an hour ago, and didn’t. I don’t know if that makes her merciful or calculating.
Her lids crack open, her eyes struggling to focus on the expanse of the city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living area.
The sedative I gave her in Spider’s apartment has likely worn off, but the sodium pentothal I administered moments ago is starting to take hold. It’s designed to lower her inhibitions andmake lying nearly impossible. Though, with the right training, she might be able to hold back even under chemical influence.
But she will crack eventually. Everyone does.
When her eyes finally focus, they land on me. Confusion clouds her expression. She tries to move and realizes she can’t when she looks down at herself. The restraints hold her wrists behind the chair, her ankles bound to the legs.
Her black lace bra and underwear barely cover anything at all. Her gaze travels over her body like she’s trying to understand how she got here, piecing together fragments of memory that won’t quite connect.
“Good. You’re awake.” I keep my voice level, clinical even. “The drugs knocked you out for a bit, but you should be fine for a little chat now.”
Her head turns toward me, movements slow and uncoordinated. Blazing hazel irises lock onto mine. Even drugged and tied to a chair, she’s the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen.
I hate that my body still responds to her like gravity, pulling me toward the abyss.
“What did you give me?” Her words are thick, slurred at the edges.
“Sodium pentothal. Also known as truth serum.” I stand and cross to her, taking my time. “Usually I torture liars, but I’m hoping I won’t have to resort to that.” I crouch down so we’re eye level. “But mark my words, I will if you hold back.”
Her gaze sharpens, some survival instinct cutting through the haze. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.” I settle back on my heels, studying her face. “Starting with who you really are and who you work for.”
“I don’t work for anyone. Just … myself.”
“You broke into a former bratva member’s apartment, tied him up, and slashed his throat. Somehow I don’t believe you’re just another MTI student.”
My hand shoots out, fingers tangling in her hair, yanking her head back sharply. She gasps, pupils blown and locked on mine.
“Are you working for the Ghost?” The question has been circling in my mind since I found her in Spider’s apartment.
It’s possible she’s been operating right under my nose this whole time, using me, playing me, manipulating me, and feeding information back to my silent enemy.
A giggle bubbles out of her. “Do I look like a ghost to you?”
“Don’t play games with me. The Ghost Syndicate. The organization targeting every major family in New York.” My grip tightens until tears spring to her eyes. “You have tech skills and training. Are you working for them?”
“No. I don’t care about the other families. I only care about yours.”
The hair on my arms stands on end. “And why is that?”
“Because your family ruined my life.” The words spill out like she’s been holding them back for too long and can’t anymore. “Your father is a bad, bad man. Did you know?”
I release her hair and cradle her face with both hands, forcing her to hold my gaze.
“Know about what?”
Despite her state, something raw and wounded surfaces in her expression. “About the trafficking? About all the women that were sold through Velour?”
The question lands like a blade to my back. Because yes, I fucking knew. I knew and didn’t do a thing about it, and it haunts me to this day, even though I was just a kid.
“Forget about me,” I hiss. “How do you know about this?” It’s a long-dead, well-guarded secret.
