Page 101 of Enthrall Climax
“She won’t,” said Henry. “We promise.”
I slid away from the desk so she could get closer to the keyboard. She paused, suspicion in her gaze. This was taking too long. The thought of Mia in distress caused my blood to boil, but if I snapped at Omani to hurry and lost her trust my only way to find Mia could be lost.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I said softly.
She moved the keyboard closer so she could type. “What is it that’s so important on here?”
“Helete has kidnapped my fiancée.”
Her flickering eyelashes revealed her surprise at my honesty. “Why?”
“Because Helete does not like me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
I smiled. “Because you may be young, but you’re not immune to bullshit.”
“I’m not as dumb as people think.”
“They probably assume you’re naïve. I don’t.”
“I was once. Before it all happened…”
“It all happened…?” I gestured for her to continue.
“I was happy in France. I had to leave.” She used the mouse to enter the password. “This place is not what I thought it was.”
“Why don’t you go back?” asked Henry.
“Helete offered you money to stay?” I realized.
“Not as much as you. Anyway, where would I go? My old master bored of me.”
“Master?” Henry’s brows were halfway up his forehead.
Omani stared at him, realizing. “My boyfriend.”
“What happened?” I drew her attention back on me.
Pain flashed across her face, but she continued typing. “I got an email telling me not to come home. I was no longer wanted.”
“Where were you living?”
“Paris.” She stood back and pointed to the screen. “There you go.”
France was the country stamped on her passport, I recalled Shay telling me this. So she’d been there before she’d met Helete, perhaps?
“I really appreciate this, Nadia.”
“I don’t want to do the glory hole thing again. I don’t like it. Can you tell her?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll call her.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed as he tried to work out what that meant, and then his expression turned to horror.
I raised my hand so that he wouldn’t respond to her sensitive confession. Omani had just admitted men had fucked her through a hole in the wall, and I wasn’t in the mood to ask her if it had happened here or back in Paris.
“I mean,” she stuttered out, “I speak five languages. I play the piano. I’m more than they say.”
