Page 113 of Diamond In The Rough

“You didn’t make the story up about the soldier,” he croons, stroking my forearm with his free hand. “I’d already done my research before stepping inside your shop. Which means you had, too.”

“Let me go.” I try to wiggle my fingers. To dislodge the middle from his tool. “Let me leave and I’ll never step foot on your property again.”

His eyes shutter at my words. From rage, to hurt, to curiosity, then back to rage.

“You can’t have known what I’d come in to buy that day. I hadn’t even decided more than a few hours before I walked in. Which means you studied everything on the shop floor?”

I firm my lips and refuse him the information he so desperately wants.

“Quite fastidious of you. You actually played the part well. I bet Colby enjoyed all that free labor.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“Did you get to keep the commission from your sales?” he presses. “Or would they be considered income from criminal activities? In which case, old man Hoover confiscated the money and poured it into the government coffers.” He lifts his free hand and makes the quotation marks with his fingers. “‘All in the name of justice for the people’ or some bullshit.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.” I straighten my spine within the tight confines of my chair and jut my chin forward. My headstone will read, ‘Here lies Tiia Hale, a woman who possessed more pride than she did common sense.’ “Kill me, Micah. Cut me. Do whatever you’re gonna do. But you won’t break me.”

“You don’t think so?” He fixes and tightens his pliers, adding pressure to my nail. But still, he doesn’t crush the digit. He doesn’t hurt me.

He won’t.

He can’t.

“We’re all alone out here, mo chroí. You’re not being watched right now. Your handler has no clue where you are, this bunker isn’t listed anywhere. And you have no cell reception, which means no one is listening. All of that means I can tell you a man sat in this chair mere weeks ago.” He looks to his left, my right, and grins toward a long spray of crimson marking the stone wall. “He didn’t want to discuss things, either. But like you, his existence threatened my brother’s safety. His artery opened like a fire hydrant. You sure you want to test me?”

“Do it.” I firm my shaking jaw and challenge him with my stare. “Show me what kind of man you are. Prove to me I was right all along.”

“Right?”

“That you’re nothing more than a copy-and-paste of the man who came before you. Born a killer. Die a killer.”

“Born a prisoner,” he counters on a sneer. “Die a protector. There’s a difference, though I’m not sure you’re capable of understanding where the line is.”

“You won’t hurt me.” Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! “You showed your cards when you sat me down, and you’ve yet to cut me.”

“Perhaps I like to savor my prey.” He drops his pliers so they clatter against the concrete floor, then he slides his blade through my shirt, slicing it open to reveal my simple black bra and the stubborn rolls of my stomach. “I’m not a man who rushes. It’s not like you have anywhere to be after this.” His eyes dance with a manic rage. “What time are your people expecting you to check in next?”

“An hour.” I stare into his eyes and snarl. “If they hear nothing within that timeframe, they lay siege to your home and take anyone inside it.” Lies. Lies. So many lies. “Probably best you go and save Felix.”

He shakes his head, humored as he reaches out and cuts the spaghetti strap of my top so, like my pants, the fabric falls away.

“That’s just not true, mo chroí. You spent all night here last night and walked out with yesterday’s clothes this morning.” His eyes sparkle with torment. “I’d say they consider you deep undercover at this point. We have until morning, at least.”

“You still have a chance to walk away,” I choke out desperately. “You can let me go. I’ll tell them this operation is a bust, and we go our separate ways.”

“Can I still fuck you anytime I like?” He brings his blade over and slices through the other strap, destroying my top and exposing my entire body except for the bra and panties I wore today. “For as long as you’re working this case, spending the night is just the job, right? But once you’re reassigned, and I’m no longer your mission, sucking my cock is off the table, no?”

Fuck you. Fuck this place. Fuck this entire mission.

“The government will surely reward your dedication.” He pushes up to stand and re-folds his knife. Dropping it in his pocket, I have a moment to breathe a little easier, a single second where he holds neither a blade, nor a tool, to my body. But then he shucks his jacket and turns to hang it on the hook at the back of the door.

We’re in a barred fucking prison. Steel and stone and impenetrable walls. But they thought to install coat hooks, like propriety matters.

Turning back to face me, he rolls his shirt sleeves up. One fold. Then another. Another. To reveal tattooed forearms and eventually, the little white circular Band-Aid that proves he’s decent beneath the violence.

“This is sexual assault.” I firm my lips and stare straight through him. “Destroying my clothes. Tying me down. And now you’re undressing yourself. This is a crime.”

“I know.” He unbuttons his shirt and reveals his muscular chest. His ridged abdomen. The scars he’s collected over a lifetime. And the stitch marks on his ribs, still so fresh, each insertion is still marked with a white dot. “Maybe this is the memory I want you to take with you. Murderer. Criminal. Sexual deviant.”

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