Page 65 of Bound

Chapter Sixteen

Emery

With my hands tiedin front of my waist, I leaned against the wall and dropped to my haunches. The room was small, but it didn't look much different from any other room I had ever been in. It looked normal.

There weren't any torture devices hanging from the ceiling, or weird chairs that looked like they would split you apart if someone kept turning the wheel.

I didn't know why I expected to find such things in a place like this, maybe I had just seen too many movies.

There was a mahogany colored leather couch against the far wall, and a coffee table littered with magazines and crossword puzzles. A large oval rug was on the floor under the table, its spiral cords a mixture of sapphire blue and opal white.

The walls were bare, but the tan paint had a texture to it. Long swooping swirls cascaded down behind the couch, fanning out on the lower half of the walls. If I wasn't here by force, I'd probably want to know who helped design the room.

Hanging my head between my legs, I clutched the back of my skull. So far, no one had actually hurt me. The man with the gun had been a little rough when he dragged me from the house, but nothing I couldn't handle.

He made it clear that he'd shoot Porter without a second thought if I didn't cooperate. So, I listened, I followed orders so this asshole wouldn't hurt the only person I've ever loved.

There had been a second man hidden in the pantry, Porter didn't stand a chance. After he knocked him out cold, Dean dragged me to a car they had parked in a clearing in the woods, and stuffed me in the trunk.

Porter's alive, that's all that matter.

“I see you prefer the floor to the couch. I'm not sure what that says about you.” A man's voice sliced through the air, forcing my head up. Smiling through thin lips, he asked, “Do you know who I am?”

My heart began to race as anxiety filled my veins. This man was too confident to just be some jerk taking orders.

This must be the guy in charge.

Shaking my head, I snarled. “No, should I?”

“I suppose not, but you will now. Marcos Disesto,” he said, resting a hand on his chest. “And you must be Emery.” His feet clicked against the hardwood floor as he walked through the room. “Porter finally had something that made all of the shit he put me through worth while.”

Swallowing hard, I didn't say a word. I let him talk, he looked like a man who enjoyed hearing himself.

Tall and slender, his hair was bright blond and his eyes were green as grass. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit, with shiny black shoes that looked like they were made from some sort of snake skin.

“I run things around here, and your boyfriend, well he owes me for fucking shit up. He cost me time, money, and my fucking reputation. He made some really big fucking mistakes, and he needs to pay for them.”

“How is that my problem?” Arching a hard brow, I glared down the bridge of my nose. “I have nothing to do with any of that.”

“Didn't you hear me? Porter owes me.”

“What did he do?” Flopping down onto my ass, I stretched out my legs. “What could have happened that you'd go through this much trouble?”

“You mean he didn't tell you who he is?”

“He told me a little about who he used to be, and I know it isn't good.”

Standing above me, the man rested his arms behind his back. “Isn't good. . .” Looming over me, his body cast a shadow over my face. “Porter is a killer, he used to be one of my best. He killed an entire fucking family. Women, children, it never made a difference to him. He's a cold-blooded killer, and he always will be. There is noused to be,you're in until the day you die. Porter wanted out, and I'm trying to give him that, but there's only one way.My way.”

Flaring my nostrils, my lids thinned. “Is that suppose to scare me? I don't believe a fucking word out of your mouth. He wouldn't kill innocent people! And he wouldn't kill children!”

He could try and frighten me all he wanted to. It wouldn't matter what he said, nothing out of his mouth was true. Porter had told me killed men, but did I think he could kill kids? Not a chance in hell.

“You're a fucking liar, he wouldn't do what you're saying.” Shaking my head, my lips pursed tight.

“No?” Stepping to the coffee table, he sifted through some papers, and pulled one out. Holding it up in front of his face, he started reading. “Police are putting out a massive manhunt for Porter Blaise. He's wanted in connection with the deaths of two adults, and two children.” Throwing the newspaper across the room at me, it floated down, landing on the floor at my feet. “Here, read it for yourself.”

The words were there in black and white, big and bold, and undeniable. I couldn't even find the strength to reach out and touch it.

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