Because of this man.
Because whatever Nicolae knows about him is just that compromising. It’s worth expending the time, effort, and manpower to hunt down not just Nicolae but all of us. My Arrows. Sophia. Me. Even Brys, who knows nothing.
Makes one wonder what Nicolae knows.
I thought he'd met with someone in Europe regarding his evidence, but that debrief was cut short by the discovery of Pugli's agents on my trail after I bolted following the assault.
"Nothing to say, Indigo?" Pugli pops a Zyn pouch into his mouth, which makes me nauseated. It's a disgusting habit.
I summon a lazy, unconcerned grin, sprawled against the hatch like Dr. Ian Malcolm in the back of the Jeep. "Not really.Your time on this earth is measured in hours, now, Roberto. Enjoy your sense of superiority while it lasts."
"You think you're going to fight your way free and kill me in the process, do you?" The derision in his eyes is wickedly sharp. "How amusing."
Inside, I'm freaking out—mainly about Brys. It's tempting to bring her up and see what he says, but I hold my tongue. No point in baiting him on that topic, in case she's gotten away or has slipped his mind.
"Your friend," Pugli says conversationally, immediately dashing my hopes. "The curvy blonde. CEO of Bennett Development, yes? Miss Brys Bennet? I imagine you'd like to get her off the hook. Or perhaps 'off my radar' would be a more accurate way of putting it."
I can't stop fury and hate from bubbling up inside me, but I do my dead level best to keep it from showing on my face. I'm sure my eyes betray something, however. "I'm listening."
"Give me Lash, and Brys Bennett is free to live her life. She'll never see me or any of myfriendsagain."
"You overestimate my influence on Lash," I say, truthfully. "Especially as regards his antipathy toward you."
"Oh yes, his hate burns most brightly, I know. I'm counting on it, as a matter of fact. I have you, and he owes you his loyalty. He hates me—not without reason, I suppose." So flippantly, so casually does he reference his evil acts. "It's a perfect setup for an ambush. He won't be able to resist. If I could add your Miss Bennett to the trap, I'd be happier, but things got rather exciting as we were leaving. If it wasn't Lash himself out there, it was another of your damnably effective Arrow friends." A shrug. "No matter. Death comes to us all, but to you and Lash rather more immediately."
I hold his gaze silently, and it becomes a staring contest, which is, I understand, patently ridiculous and utterly childish.It’s not a don't-blink-or-you-lose contest, though. It's a don’t-look-away contest. It's like trying to stare down a cobra, though: there's just no life in his eyes, not a scrap of humanity, no warmth, no light.
We're saved from having to declare a winner when our driver slams on his brakes, cursing angrily in Bulgarian, drawing both Pugli's and my attention at the same time.
I'm thrown painfully around the trunk as the driver swerves while cursing; I brace against the hatch and sides with splayed arms and legs, snarling through the pain.
Dizziness washes over me, which isn't good. I close my eyes and sink into my mind, pushing aside the pain, Pugli, chases, gunshot wounds, everything.
What fills the void of my thoughts is Brys.
The hot, bright gleam of arousal in her exotic, blue-ringed hazel eyes. The small softness of her hands. The hunger in her as she swallowed my cock, the way she gazed up at me, begging for more. Obeying me so willingly, greedily.
The way she collected herself and kept moving despite the horrific gore of dead bodies.
The gleam of humor as she doles out wicked, cutting sarcasm.
I sink deeper into the darkness of quasi-consciousness, letting Brys fill my mind and overtake my thoughts.
Inevitably, however, Isabel ghosts through my awareness—the Isabel that was: Madame X. The woman locked in my tower, nameless and without a past. Mine to create, to control. She was a study in grace, elegance, and understated perfection. She moved through the world like a dancer, even as a coltish sixteen-year-old.
I was her world. My word was all there was. I had but to speak, and my will would be carried out.
She was a living doll. Almost a golem, a barely animate thing without a will of her own.
For years, I worked tirelessly to create a perfect vessel for my will, a creature I could bend to my purposes. For someone with an undiagnosed but very real obsessive disorder—or whatever is plaguing my brain—she was my ideal possession.
And apossessionshe was. I didn't see her as a person, an individual. I stopped seeing her individual qualities, her sense of self. I knew who she was and where she came from, even if she didn’t…I just stopped caring. The pursuit of ever more finely-tuned control over her behavior, her decisions, her thoughts, even her needs—that was all I cared about.
She was all I wanted, all I needed.
And then she met Logan. Her eyes were opened. She began asking questions. Began wondering.
And so the house of cards I'd built came crashing down around my ears.
