Page 89 of Freedom’s Inferno

“Oh, I’ll get my money.” He stood to his full height, adjusting his cuffs like we were discussing a business deal instead of my life. “You’ll fetch a fine price. Plenty of men would pay whatever it takes to ruin that cunt of yours.”

Revulsion burned, piercing enough to lock me in place, my body recoiling even as I stood still.

His gaze raked over me, the kind of look that stripped away layers. By the time his eyes met mine again, I was exposed, reduced to something less than human.

Bile rose in my throat. “No.”

He smiled. “Oh yes.” He turned, glancing toward the bearded man who now stood by the door. “As for Mr. Sterling…” His expression shifted, amusement curling at the corners of his features. “He’s already in the grave as far as I’m concerned. Speaking of him…” He slipped a phone from his pocket, scrolling with one thumb. “Mike just texted. He says Sterling walked into the hotel right on schedule.”

My heart lurched. “Charlie‒”

Costa silenced me with a look, then dialed a number and held his phone to his ear. “Hello, Mr. Sterling.” He paced a slow circle as he spoke. “Direct and to the point. I like that in a businessman.”

Charlie’s voice echoed faintly through the phone, tight and desperate.

My stomach turned over.

Costa laughed, low and eerie. “She’s alive. For now.” He laughed again, low and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to enjoy this. “Listen to yourself. Making threats you can’t back up. You’re out of your depth, Mr. Sterling. You always have been.”

I tried to push myself up, my palms slipping against the wet concrete. My head spun, but I didn’t care. I needed to say something, anything, in case Charlie could hear me through the phone. My throat burned as I tried to force out his name, but before I could stand, a rough hand clamped down on my shoulder.

The bearded man shoved me back down, hard enough that pain shot through my arm.

The floor was cold and slick beneath me, soaking through my clothes as I hit it again. I twisted, struggling against his grip, but his fingers only dug in deeper.

“Sit the hell down,” he snarled, his breath hot and sour near my ear.

“Oh, I believe you,” Costa said, still speaking to Charlie on the other line. “But if you want her to stay breathing, you’ll go to the address on the photograph. You’ll come alone. Do you understand?”

Costa extended the phone toward me, his expression almost courteous, like he offered me a drink instead of my only chance at life. The phone hovered inches from my face, the open line crackling—Charlie. My heart lurched.

I tried to speak, to warn him not to come. The words formed in my head, desperate and sharp, but when I opened my mouth, only a thin, broken whisper scraped out. “Don’t‒”

The phone was ripped away before I could finish.

Costa’s expression didn’t change, but the bearded man moved fast, his hand on my shoulder again, slamming me back to the concrete.

The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp, pain flaring through my ribs.

Costa lifted the phone to his ear with a slow, indifferent motion, as if he were resuming a casual conversation. “That’s all you get, Mr. Sterling.” He let the words hang there, watching me. “If you ever want to see her alive again, I suggest you don’t waste time.”

Charlie filled every corner of my mind, his name echoing with every unsteady breath. Part of me prayed he was already on his way, that he’d find me no matter how far they’d taken me, that he’d burst through the door and make this nightmare end. The thought terrified me, too. If Charlie came, he’d walk straight into the trap they’d built.

Costa would use me to destroy him, and Charlie would let him, just to try to save me.

I wanted him safe, I wanted him to stay away, yet the idea of him not coming, of being left here alone with these men and the dark, was unbearable.

Costa lowered the phone, studying me like he was considering what to do with a stray dog that had tried to bite him. The faintest flicker of amusement tugged at his mouth.

“Smile, sweetheart,” he said, almost affectionately. “You’re beautiful.”

I forced myself to look at him, even though every instinct screamed at me not to. My voice came out hoarse and shaking, but I held my chin up. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you my teeth.”

That earned a low laugh, almost startling in its mirth. “A woman who doesn’t know when to shut her mouth,” he mused, as if my defiance bored him. “How terribly predictable.”

He turned away after that, leaving the words to hang in the air between us, as sharp and cold as the water still dripping from my hair.

The bearded man followed a few paces behind, casting one last glance over his shoulder.