Page 77 of Tainted Truth

I know that laugh. I know it too well.

My head turns to the back of the studio, and Anthony makes his presence known by walking into the light.

But he’s not alone. He’s accompanied by five men, all with guns raised and pointed at Asher and me. My mouth falls open, and a chill sweeps over me. My hands shake uncontrollably.

Anthony’s smile is wide. Too wide. “Special Agent Asher Dawson, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Now, please take a step away from my fiancée and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Asher raises his hands in front of his person but steps in front of me, hiding me from Anthony and obeying only half of the demand. The lock on the door connecting Clay Creations and Abstract Dreams locks into place.

“You should know better than to come between a man and his love.” Anthony’s voice holds a warning in it. A warning I know he won’t give twice.

“If you had any claim over her, I might step aside. But I know how much she hates you. I know how much you disgust her. She’ll never want you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. My Flower loves me. That bitch fucking worships me! This has all been a test. She just wanted to know how much I love her, and I’ve proven it many times over again.”

Oh my God. He really is insane. I’m not going to walk away this time. He’s going to drag me back, kicking and screaming, and he’ll pay everyone to look the other way.

Another gun clicks. “Last time, Dawson. Step aside.”

I grab Asher’s arm and grip it hard. “Asher, just?—”

A loud bang echoes through the room and causes a ringing in my ears. Asher grunts and falls to his knees. My body freezes as I watch the shoulder on Asher’s shirt turn red with blood. I open my mouth to shout, but no sound comes out.

Muffled screams come from the other side of the door.

Anthony moves to stand in front of Asher and points his gun right at Asher’s forehead. Asher stares down the barrel without fear. The vein in his temple twitches as he looks on at Anthony in pure hatred.

“NO!” I finally cry out and jump in front of Asher.

Anthony’s reaction is immediate. He raises his hand and slaps me hard across the face. I fall to the side.

“Don’t you ever come between me and my kill ever again!” Anthony turns to his men. “Grab her. The other two are going tobe in here any second.” He looks at Asher one more time. “Him too. He’s coming along to answer some questions.” Anthony leans down so he’s at eye level with Asher and smiles. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Foreign arms wrap around my torso and lift me off the ground. I kick and scream but to no avail.

Someone pounds on the connecting metal door. “Spencer! Spencer!” Zane’s shouts make their way through the door, but his person doesn’t follow. That door is thick and sturdy. They’re not getting through but are making their best effort.

Asher is hefted up by two men, one on each arm, and dragged through the back door and into a waiting white van with no windows. When I’m finally hauled through the back door, the front of the studio opens and Rio and Zane yell for me. We make eye contact as the door shuts. Tears drip from my chin, and terror enters their gazes as the sliding van door shuts and a black cloth bag is thrown over my head.

CHAPTER 33

SPENCER

The sound of fists meeting flesh and Asher’s grunts of pain are stuck in my brain. As long as I live, I’ll never get that sound out of my memory.

After a lifetime of driving, the van stops, and Asher and I are lugged into a building. As my body is dropped into a chair, the wood groans. The same sound echoes from my right as I assume Asher is set in an identical chair. My wrists and ankles are released but then quickly taped to the arms and legs of the chair.

The bag is removed from my head, and a bright, hanging light directly overhead blinds me momentarily as my eyes adjust.

A figure comes into my vision, blocking the light. “Flower, my Flower. I finally have you back right where you belong.” Anthony’s finger trails down the side of my face and across the top of my breasts.

I jerk my head to the side to get away from his touch. Asher’s beaten body sags in the chair next to me, and my stomach drops. The hors d’oeuvres I consumed earlier are ready to come back up, but I force the food to stay in my stomach.

The rest of the room comes into view. It’s spacious and sparsely lit with some wooden crates in the corner. Earthy scentsfill my nose. The ceiling is high, at least twenty feet or higher. The windows are only along the wall’s top three feet or so. The walls are red brick, and the floor is made of smooth, dark gray concrete. I think it’s safe to assume we’re in a warehouse somewhere in New York or New Jersey, based on how long it took us to get here. The air isn’t as humid as Manhattan, but humid enough that I feel like I’m wearing a hot wet blanket.

Asher’s left eye is swollen shut and blood trickles from his nose. Sweat drips from his hairline as his body slumps forward. His clothes are in disarray and soaked in blood and sweat.

“What did you do to him?” I ask while whimpering.

---