Page 53 of Braxton

She wanted to keep him talking, plus she wanted more answers. “Poison?” she echoed. “Interesting.”

Cross paused. “How so?”

She shrugged. “Poison is normally a woman’s go-to, not a man’s.” When he didn’t comment, she continued, “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble with this whole Novichok plan when you could’ve just taken your guests out with a handful of bullets.”

“Maybe I enjoy the drama.”

“Or, maybe this has to do with Papillon?” She held her breath, suddenly wondering if she was very wrong. But the moment she said the French word for butterfly, emotion flashed across Cross’ face. “I believe she was infamous for killing her targets with poison, including Novichok.”

That was a guess on her part, but his reaction confirmed her suspicion.

“She’s none of your goddamn business,” Cross hissed. “Say her name again and it’ll be the last word you ever speak. Are we clear?”

Wow. Talk about hitting a nerve.Since she was in a crappy position and unable to fight back, she nodded.

“Good. Now I have guests to attend to, so while I’m busy upstairs, I’ll let the good doctor here have some fun.” Cross looked over at Grendel. “You can use your toys, but don’t kill her. I have plans for this traitor.”

Quinn watched Cross walk out then turned her attention to Grendel who was looking at her like a wild animal about to tear into its prey. With a maniacal grin, he reached for the scourge, and her stomach sank. The wicked-looking spikes on the balls attached to long leather straps would tear into her skin.

“Since you’ve been nothing but a scourge to our plans, maybe we should start with this?” He used his wrist to flick it back and forth.

“Or not.” She shrank back in the chair as the spiked balls danced in front of her face.

“We have so many options. I’ve been collecting these medieval instruments for a very long time. But it’s so nice to actually put them to use.”

That’s because you’re psychotic, she thought, but she didn’t dare provoke him. The man took a perverse desire in stoking fear and then doling out pain. Quinn refused to give him that satisfaction. Instead, she lifted her head and met his watery brown eyes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said, mustering up every ounce of bravery and defiance she possessed.

“You should be,” he whispered, moving closer. “You should be very, very afraid.”

Then he lifted the scourge and brought it down on her thigh.

And all she could do was scream.

???

While Inda and Gray went to crash the dinner party, Brax, Ryland and Saint found the entrance to the labyrinth—at least one of them—thanks to Zane’s trusty drone. It was behind the main house and wasn’t much more than a covered hole in the ground.

Saint yanked the rickety trap door open and Brax peered down. Steep, wooden stairs led down into pitch blackness.

“This looks fun,” Saint grumbled. “Who wants to go first?”

“Me.” Ryland pulled his night vision goggles down and put a boot on the first step, testing its strength. Once he determinedit would hold, he started walking down. “Remember, Cross is mine.”

“I’ll get Grendel,” Saint growled. “That leaves Camille, and that bitch is all yours, Pharaoh.”

“Great.” Brax adjusted his NVGs and tightened his hold on his Glock as he stepped down into the gloom. Everything glowed an eerie green from the NVGs and, as they moved deeper, it felt like the earth was swallowing them whole. But at least they could see.

Zane wasn’t exaggerating when he’d referred to the tunnels as a labyrinth. The narrow passageways smelled like dirt and seemed to twist and turn endlessly.

“Fuck,” Saint hissed. “Why the hell didn’t I go to the dinner party instead?”

“Yeah, it’s a little tight down here,” Ryland murmured.

They knew Saint hated being confined in small places, especially after Grendel locked him in a coffin.

“I’ll be fine,” Saint assured them gruffly, “as long as we keep moving.”

---