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Chapter twelve

Footsteps sounded at the far end of the corridor, leading toward the dungeon. Isabella’s voice reached me next, too low to make out the words. Then she laughed, light and genuinely amused, as though whatever she had planned for me was all part of some fucking game.

Damn.

The bitch had returned sooner than I’d hoped.

I’d been counting on Mouse reaching me first. A few more minutes might’ve been enough for another drink, a chance to find out whether she could unlock the restraints, or a clue about the hidden passage behind me. I hadn’t expected her to trust me enough yet to unlock the cuffs based on nothing more than my good intentions, but anything was better than facing Isabella the way Ciro had left me—blindfolded, dehydrated, and chained to this goddamn chair.

Apparently, God had decided I needed a better view of hell this morning.

Fine.

I’d face it with my back straight and deny her every bit of satisfaction I could. She might hurt me. The pain might make me jolt or drag a grunt from me before I could bite it back. But none of that meant she owned me.

The approaching steps stopped just outside. A key scraped into the lock, followed by the heavy clank of the mechanism releasing. The dungeon door swung open.

They filed in, and the door banged shut behind them. One of the heavier sounding footsteps stopped several feet in front of me, another moved behind my chair, and the third came close enough that I could hear him breathing through his nose. Lighter footsteps continued forward until they stopped directly in front of me.

The tip of something cool and smooth pressed under my chin.

I jerked my face away.

“Manners still haven’t improved, I see,” she said.

I kept my head to the side.

“You’ll learn,” she purred, as though she were promising pleasure instead of misery.

Something rigid tapped my shoulder before sliding down my arm and striking my wrist with a sharp slap.

She stepped away from me.

“I brought help for that. Mateo, what happens to stubborn men who refuse to follow my rules?”

“They get corrected, ma’am.” The deep voice came from behind and to my left, carrying the practiced snap of a soldier.

“Mateo keeps my world running when everyone else is too stupid to follow simple instructions.” The toe of her boot tapped against the concrete. “Pedro, are you willing to help teach our guest?”

“Gladly, ma’am,” the man beside my shoulder answered with the lazy satisfaction of someone who enjoyed being close to pain as long as it belonged to someone else.

“And Diego? Whose pleasure comes first?”

A gruff voice answered from ahead and to my right. “Yours, Mistress. Your pleasure is all I desire.”

Jesus Christ.

She laughed softly. “They all have their talents. Mateo understands discipline. Diego understands devotion. And Pedro has a particularly gifted mouth.”

A snort came from one of the men.

“What consenting adults do together is none of my business,” I said. My throat was so dry I could hardly speak. “But whatever this little show is, leave me the fuck out of it.”

Whatever weapon she held whipped across my thigh.

Pain flared through the bruise already there, but I locked my jaw before a sound could escape.

“You misunderstand me, Lachlan. You don’t get to leave yourself out of anything.” Her steps circled the chair. “The only difference between you and my men is that they were more willing to learn. I do enjoy a good challenge, though.”