Page 71 of Over the Edge

He stepped in front of me, speaking to the crowd, but looking at me now. “You’ll notice the eyes. Alert. Processing. Trapped.”

A bead of sweat slid down my spine.

I wanted to move. I wanted torun.

And I couldn’t.

“Now,” Moreau said pleasantly, and tapped the pen against my neck again.

Like a marionette with its strings cut, my body sagged, breath crashing into my lungs in a desperate gulp. I caught myself before I fell, staggering one step, then two, as control returned in a sudden, nauseating rush.

The crowd applauded. Some even laughed.

I forced myself upright. Forced my features into an intrigued smile even as my stomach churned. The applications for such a device went far beyond conventional warfare. Interrogation. Torture. Rape. The tool was made for violations of the worst kind.

“Effective,” I said hoarsely. “I’ll take six.”

That got another wave of appreciative laughter.

But I didn’t miss the look Flynn shot Moreau from the shadows beyond the stage lights.

If Moreau ever touched me again, he was going to die for it.

CHAPTER22

LYRIC

There were more demonstrations.More horrors. But, by the end, there was still no sign of Sentinel.

Maybe it had been on that truck after all?

No, it couldn’t be that easy. And it was still listed for the auction as Lot Number Forty-Two.

Moreau was just saving Sentinel for his grand finale. I was sure of it. He was enjoying the theatrics of the night too much.

After the final demonstration, the room emptied slowly, the guests drifting back upstairs to the main ballroom, their conversations animated with fresh desire for the weapons they’d just seen. I made my way through the crowd, smiling at the right people, nodding at others, all while looking for a moment of space to process what we’d witnessed.

The terrace beckoned. Dark, quiet, away from the press of bodies and the constant performance. I slipped outside, the night air cool against my skin. The Mediterranean stretched before me, black and endless under a scatter of stars, while behind me, the party continued in a bubble of light and privilege. I knew I shouldn’t isolate myself, but I needed just a moment to breathe and collect myself so I could be Elisa again.

The terrace was modern, like the rest of the compound, all clean lines and polished stone. Subtle lighting illuminated the space just enough to navigate without spoiling the view. I leaned against the railing, letting the sea breeze cool my skin, which still felt flushed from the awful feeling of being trapped inside my own body.

I sensed his presence before I heard him and all of my senses prickled to high alert. I’d always been more fight than flight, but Nico Moreau triggered every primal prey instinct I possessed.

Run.

I stayed put.

“Admiring my view, Ms. Deveraux?” His voice was as smooth as the aged whiskey in his glass as he joined me at the railing.

I turned, offering him Elisa’s smile. “It’s breathtaking.”

He stood closer than necessary, his shoulder brushing mine. Behind him, I noticed his security personnel positioning themselves at the terrace entrance, effectively cutting off any interruption—or escape. Flynn was nowhere in sight. Neither were Decker or Trent. I was alone with Moreau and his men.

He sipped his drink. “What did you think of my little showcase?”

“Theatrical.”

“Yes, well, buyers are more willing to spend money when they know how valuable their shopping list actually is. Do you have a list, Elisa?”

---