Page 22 of Vision of Truth

He leaned back in his chair. “Sit, little wild cat. Dine with me.”

“Sir, she just stabbed Briggs dead.”

The man clutched the stem of his wine glass and swirled the dark liquid, face clear of emotion. “Then he should’ve been more careful.”

The men’s brutal grip on her arms released, and she nearly fell to the floor without them holding her up. A chair was pulled out for her, but she couldn’t make her feet move. The scents of blood lingered in her nostrils and clung to her, making her skin tight as the fluid dried on her flesh. A rough hand palmed her shoulder, forcing her into the chair. She took a glance back at the men who’d pulled her up from the cellar. They weren’t letting her leave here alive, but if by some miracle she escaped, she wanted to know their faces. Make sure justice was delivered. When she was satisfied she had their faces committed to memory, she turned to the man at the table. His eyes were a glacial blue, beautiful and so cold that the chill of them skated over her skin. Goosebumps shot down her arms. Her host was staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“Fearless.” He sipped his wine, a slight smile tilting his lips. “In such a cultured world, it’s refreshing to witness a bit of brutality. Especially in a woman.” A butler approached from behind and filled her wine glass. With all the drugs she’d been given to sedate her, one sip might send her into a coma.

“I’m sure you know a thing or two about brutality.” The steady tone of her voice barely registered as her own, because inside she was trembling.

“So much fire.” The smile built on his face, but it wasn’t a friendly one. Ruthless and predatory. “It’s a shame I have a buyer lined up for you. If I didn’t, I’d keep you for my own.”

Her hands trembled, and she balled them into fists in her lap. “What do you mean?” Each time she spoke, a coppery tang coated her tongue. Her blood or that of the man she killed, she had no clue. “Who are you?”

He contemplated her for a moment, then took his time adding an assortment of black and green olives to his full plate. “As unfortunate as it is, your fate isn’t going to be pleasant, so I don’t fear telling you more.”

Ice crystalized in her gut, a cold and heavy lump of dread.

“My name is Mario Greco. Please, eat.” He nudged a tray of chicken toward her, then shrugged when she made no attempt to move. The sight of the grill-charred meat sent a wave of nausea through her. “The death of my grandfather was unexpected and has presented several opportunities for those in my family to grow and prosper, but we disagree on the best way to get there and who should rule the empire our dear grandfather built. Much like yourself, I don’t shy away from blood, especially when it turns a nice profit. I’m sure once the family sees how lucrative my exploration into trafficking is, they’ll agree I’m the future of The United Brotherhood, and not my little cousin. You will be part of my first shipment. You and the girl.”

Her vision tunneled as blood roared through her extremities. How dare he even think to discard Sabrina, to sell her. She stood abruptly, fueled by a fresh wave of adrenaline. The heavy chair flipped back and landed on the carpet with a dull thud. She smacked the silver platter of chicken, upending the contents onto her host before sweeping her arms across the mahogany surface. The sound of clattering glass and China split through the air. She jumped onto the long table, slipping through overturned canapes and side dishes. She launched herself at Greco with such force, his chair toppled back. They hit the floor hard, pain splintering through her fractured ribs, even with Greco beneath her to cushion the blow. A scream tore from her throat before she sank her teeth into his neck. Blood filled her mouth, and she could only pray she hit a vital artery. She punched and scratched until bruising hands lifted her from Greco, who stared up at her stunned. More men flooded into the room. Her chest heaved. Blood trickled down her chin and neck.

“Take her,” Mario wheezed.

The men began to drag her. Rough hands. Hot breath on her neck. Her vision blurred.

“Not back to the cellar.” Mario’s voice sliced through the air. The men came to a jerking halt. They turned to face their boss, who was surrounded by staff. One was tending to the bite on his neck. “She needs to be cleaned up and prepared for shipment. The girl, too. Bring her here.”

“What about the agent?” One of the men at her side asked, shifting to tighten his hold on her upper arm.

“The agent?” His voice dropped as his eyes scanned over every face in the room. “Another way my loyal staffers have failed me. One might be locked up, but another has been hiding in plain sight. An agent was hired onto the staff, and those responsible will pay dearly.” The hands holding her tensed, crushing into her skin. She could practically smell their fear. Or maybe it was hers. “I, of course, knew the moment I laid eyes on her. I won’t tolerate mistakes. The agent detained can be disposed of. The pretty new housekeeper calling herself Jennifer will be included in the shipment with the woman and girl.”

His words sent everyone into a flurry of action. The men began taking her deeper into the house. Her heart was racing. She glanced to the left and right trying to memorize her surroundings. She would have to escape with Sabrina or die trying. The latter was better than being sold into modern day slavery. Her brothers were trying to find them, were doing whatever was necessary to locate them. She couldn't depend on their actions alone, though. She needed to be an active participant in their rescue. Her mind was racing from the information Mario had just disclosed to his hired muscle. An agent, a female agent, had infiltrated their ranks. It was so wrong to hope the agent was Lena Nilsson. Wrong because that would mean she was going to be sold along with her and Sabrina. Their chances of survival, though, would drastically increase if she had another skilled adult working alongside her when the opportunity came to escape. If anything, they had to get Sabrina out of this house.

“You'll get what’s coming to you, bitch.” The man on her left pushed open a bedroom door. There were three sets of handcuffs chained to a wrought-iron bed. Someone shoved her to the floor. Her arm made a popping sound as it was roughly dragged behind her and secured to the bed. Her whole body hurt. Adrenaline and maybe a bit of shock had masked her injuries, but the throbbing in her arms and sides were barreling back. Taking a breath in through her nose, she tried to get her breathing under control. The men left, returning moments later with another woman. Her heartrate sped up. Ignoring the pain that seemed to radiate everywhere, she drew her legs up to her chest and dropped her head on her knees. She didn’t want any of the men to see the recognition on her face. They were both silent for several minutes after the door clicked shut. When the sound of boots was no longer audible, and she was confident the men were gone, she let the breath whoosh out of her lungs.

“Are you hurt?” Lena whispered. Her voice was hoarse. Jules glanced over to the agent at her side. A fresh bruise marred her cheek, turning her pale skin a garish shade of purple.

“I-I’m okay.” Even though her body felt anything but all right, it felt wrong to say no when Agent Dawson had suffered so greatly. She shifted, trying to find some relief to the pain pulsing in her ribs and arm.

“You’re covered in blood.” Lena’s eyes quickly scanned her body.

“Most isn’t mine.” Something that was growing increasingly difficult to ignore. A shudder tore through her. If only she could crawl out of her skin and leave the bodily fluids hardening on her skin behind. Escape the sickening metallic tang assaulting her nostrils.

Lena looked at her once more and nodded.

“Are you okay?” Jules shifted again, but there was no escaping the bone-deep throb in her ribs.

“I'm fine. More than fine actually.” The determination in Lena’s voice did nothing to settle the clawing fear.

Those men were going back to the cellar to retrieve Sabrina. Her breath hitched. God, she’d never felt more helpless. “Fine? How is this fine? There must be a way to—” A discreet black camera in the corner of the room caught her eye. Shit. They were being watched.

“We can speak freely,” Lena said as if she instinctively knew what made the words die in Julie’s throat. “I removed the listening devices from this room.” Her icy blue eyes narrowed. “Where did the blood come from?” Lena scanned her, as though looking for the source.

“I killed a man named Briggs when he came to get me from the cellar.” Was it wrong to have no ounce of remorse for what she’d done? Regardless, she was past caring.

“That was one of the men who shot agent Vesey.” Lena whispered, and for a moment, there was a glint of respect in the agent’s expression.

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