Page 162 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

All Mike wanted was to support his family. He talked about his kids with such pride. He loved his wife with a passion that made me believe in something better. He was loyal and dedicated and brave.

He took on this job because of me.

Dead because of me.

I didn't pull the trigger on Miller, but I might as well have. I set everything in motion. I failed to stop it. And Mike paid the price.

I force air into my lungs and don't let the tears fall. I drop the pictures and clear my throat. "His family?"

"My men are in position." Victor's voice is distant through the roaring in my ears. "We haven't located the actress yet, but we will. Wherever you hid her." He pauses, observing how I'm handling his revelations.

Londyn is still safe.Thank you, God. But Mike's family… his pregnant wife… his children…

"The only reason I haven't killed them all is I'm curious what you have to say," Victor continues. "Why you thought it was important enough to take up more of my time. I can't possibly imagine what you think you have as a bargaining chip."

I gather what remains of my strength, what fragments of resolve haven't been shattered by those photos. I push forward for the sake of everyone whose lives hang in the balance. "Well, Alan was a rich asshole. I don't regret that he's dead."

Victor merely blinks.

"Plenty of rich assholes can take his place. Hopefully the next one stays focused on work instead of women." I straighten, ignoring the sharp protest of my ribs. "This situation may turn out better for you in the end, but that's not what I came here to say."

Another blink.

"My point is, Alan is replaceable, like all rich assholes are. But there are only a few people in the world with my particular set of skills and experience."

No blink this time. I have his attention.

"I'm nobody. Someone you can kill and instantly forget. In that regard, I don't matter. But what I can do for you does matter."

Victor's gaze doesn't waver but something shifts. There's a charged, dangerous energy radiating off him that could tip either way.

"I owe you a favor," I press on. "Let Mike's family live. Forget about Londyn. And I'll pay my debt. Whenever you need me. Whatever you need done." I hold his gaze, unflinching. "You'll have my skills at your disposal."

The seconds stretch as Victor considers my offer. The room seems to inhale with me, though each breath is weaker since all oxygen is getting sucked into the vacuum of his silence. The gargoyles stand motionless, waiting for a command.

Finally, Victor extends his hand to one of his men, who places a knife in his palm. My muscles tense, preparing for more pain.

He approaches slowly, like a panther. When he's close enough for me to smell the bitter tang of his cologne, he raises the blade toward my chest.

I don't move.

I don't flinch.

He's either going to kill me or…

With one swift motion, he slices through my shirt, exposing my chest. He presses the blade to my skin, just above my left pectoral. I try not to react as he cuts me deep enough to draw blood and leave a scar. The pain is sharp but I don't break eye contact. I stare right into the eyes of the devil.

When he's done, there's a 'V' carved into my flesh.

"This debt will be paid," he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "You belong to me until it is." He wipes the blade clean on a handkerchief he pulls from his suit pocket. "Fail again, and there are no more chances. The women and the children die. Understood?"

I nod once, the movement sending fresh pain radiating from my eye socket.

"I don't have use for you at the moment." He hands the handkerchief and the blade to his man on the right. "But I will. When I call, you'll answer."

"Yes."

Victor gives a subtle nod to his men. One moves behind me while another approaches with zip ties and the black bag.

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