Page 99 of The Vow

A second later, Pat rolled down the window, the heavily armed security guard looking like he was itching to shoot something—or someone—today.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m dropping off the lady.” Pat cocked his head to me.

“You have the wrong house. We’re not expecting anyone.”

“I’m here for my husband,” I called, catching the guard mid-turn. He stopped, and then his boots crunched over the frozen snow to the back door.

He bent and knocked on the window. Pat looked for my nod and then rolled the glass down.

Resting his hand on the top of the car, the guard’s violence-wrought face distorted as he snarled, “And who are you?”

I smiled at him. “Mrs. Remington.”

The interior of the chalet was all harsh edges and deadly wealth. The rugged, cold landscape surrounding the home was distilled into the soulless white furniture and the mounted masterpieces of death hanging from every wall. Antlers, animal busts, pelt rugs, and massive paintings idealizing not just the hunt but the kill.

It was no wonder Belmont wanted to meet here, where thestrappings of his business were removed, leaving behind nothing but the carcass of his soul on display.

Though I’d left Pat behind and was escorted inside by the guard from the gate, called Peter by his equally crude partner, I hadn’t felt a tremor of fear until I crossed the threshold.

“If you could take me to my husband’s room—” I broke off when Peter grabbed my arm just enough to make it hurt and sneered.

“I’m taking you to dinner.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ll wait for him in his room.” I lifted my chin, already knowing this was a losing battle as the second guard disappeared from my periphery with my duffel bag.

Peter’s head tipped, and his crude stare dragged up and down my body. “You’re an uninvited guest,Mrs.Remington. Either I take you to the dining room or we go to your husband’s room and see how well you enjoyuninvitedthings.”

Rage scorched my veins, and I was sorely tempted to pull the gun from my jacket and shoot the sick smile straight off his face.

“Dinner it is,” I conceded through locked teeth.

Invited or not, guest was a very generous term considering the grip Peter maintained on my arm the entire way.

The dining hall was a monstrous exaggeration of mass murder.

The long room was lined with animal busts, big and small, from waist height to the ceiling. There were no windows. There was no outside. There was just a room designed as a shrine to death where Belmont sought to impress his equally soulless associates.

I noted how for each chair stationed at the table, the dozen or so of the largest animal busts, many belonging to endangered species, were precisely positioned to mark each seat, almost as if to say it was by Belmont’s grace that you either dined at his table as an ally or decorated his home as an adversary.

My gaze reached the far end of the room, where the four men sat at the end of the table. All of whom I recognized. Belmont. Amir Shazad. Uzair Shazad. And my husband. All had been vying for the top of my most hated list for over a decade. Until recently.

Now, there were only three I hated and one whom I’d never been able to stop loving. And that one looked like he wanted to kill me. Damon’s shock passed so swiftly over his face I barely caught it before he wiped it clean, leaving nothing but potent fury unspooling in his silver gaze; it was the only mark of anger buried into an otherwise calm mask of ambivalence.

“Mrs. Remington,” Belmont boomed, his smile vacant but his stare threatening as he rose from his seat. “Damon didn’t mention you were coming, but I’m glad you could join us.”

Belmont lorded over the head of the table. On his right, Amir stood to greet me, the years taking quite a toll on the older Pakistani man. And next to Amir, his son, Uzair, straightened, his dark hair and classically handsome face a twisted reminder that even the sickest monsters could look beautiful.

Uzair smiled with the careless arrogance of a man who thought himself a god and behaved like he was one. Not a merciful, caring one, but like Zeus. Like nothing and no one, not even other gods, could touch him as he raped and abused and killed countless women for his pleasure. He was more than a criminal. More than a rapist or murderer. He was a psychopath.

For years, I’d believed Amir chose to ignore the horrors hisson inflicted because he was his heir. However, seeing them together, the truth was clear. Amir didn’t ignore the kind of man his son was… he was afraid of him. Afraid his own son wouldn’t hesitate to turn on him—to kill him with his own hands—should Amir try to curtail his sadistic tendencies.

“Thank you.” My gratitude was a mockery, but I had to play my part. “I originally had other plans, but seeing as how my husband included my work into this arrangement, I thought I should be here.”

Peter brought me toward the group, and I watched Damon’s fury flare as he focused on the hand holding me painfully prisoner; Peter had no idea his unnecessary brutality had marked him for dead.

“Please, sit.” Belmont motioned to the chair.

---