Page 20 of Daddy's Reluctant Queen

He smiles slowly, directing his aim at my legs. “We can carry you back, if you’d prefer.”

The shadows behind him are getting closer. Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.

Please, Adam. Don’t get caught. Somebody has to make them pay.

I take a step forward, hands still up. He keeps his gun on me as well as a safe distance and he walks me back to the house.

8

TITUS

Two days since the rare bird was caught. As requested, she’s being held at one of my warehouses. Ignat has been keeping me abreast of her situation and making sure none of my men do her any undue harm. As far as I’ve been told, she has remained untouched.

She wasn’t behind Natalie’s shooting. She couldn’t have been. Someone sniped her from somewhere beyond my gates. I have to assume it was her brother. By the time my guards got there, he was gone. I’ve had the brigades looking out for him since.

The easier thing to do is to torture his sister, make her bleed a little until she reveals his location. I have to admit, the idea of doing such a thing feels abhorrent. Like destroying a Van Gogh. There are other ways to torture a person, however.

We’re driving to the warehouse now and Ignat’s been quiet for most of the ride. I can sense that he has questions, thoughts about what my intentions are with this girl. I’m thankful he’s chosen to keep those questions to himself.

“What state is she in?” I ask him as we pull the car up to the entrance.

“State, sir?”

“I asked that she be made reasonably comfortable.”

“She has a cot to sleep on,” he says. “And she’s been fed three meals a day.”

“Has she spoken to anyone?”

“Curiously enough, she’s refused all attempts at communication.” Ignat regards me for a moment. “If you were hoping the isolation would break her, you may need to give it more time.”

“Perhaps. Shall we?”

We both get out of the car. Ignat grabs the bag I requested from the backseat and hands it to me. “Your implements of torture.”

I take it from him and we walk into the warehouse.

This warehouse is one of the cleaner ones that I own. Boxes line the walls on the first floor and the floors are regularly swept. There are five offices in back, all of them cleared out except for the barest amenities for anyone we choose to hold here—cots, a bucket for pissing in, a functioning sink to wash in.

We get to her room, and Cyril is sitting in a chair by the door, rubbing his healing chest. His second encounter with her left him with more bruises and a fractured rib. His attitude has been edgy since that last encounter with her as well. I imagine if I told him to go in there and shoot her dead, I’d barely get the words out before he was at the door.

He sees me and sits up. “Sir,” he says.

“How is she?”

“Last check, she was fine.” He pauses, looking over at Ignat. “Cleaned out her room as requested.”

“And the chains?”

“Slapped on about thirty minutes ago. She was less than happy about that.”

I nod. “Gentlemen, why don’t you two leave me for a few hours? I’ll call you if I need you.”

Ignat’s eyes widen slightly in ado you think that’s wisekind of way, but all he says is, “Yes, sir.”

They both leave. I wait until I can no longer hear their footsteps before I open the door.

She’s sitting on the cot in the corner, the shackles of her chains locking her wrists together in front of her. Her long, dark hair is loose around her shoulders and she’s got a faint bruise on her jaw. She looks at me, her light eyes darkening as she glares.