Page 120 of Riot's Thorn
“If it’s in your possession, it’s a commodity, and for the briefest of moments, you were in our possession. Since it was a special request, we bypassed the auction and delivered you right to Mr. Banks. There was a bigger risk than usual, so of course, we had to adjust our price accordingly.”
“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” I spit out, glancing at my cell on the coffee table. Why didn’t I keep it next to me? That was so stupid.
“I don’t value your opinion of me in the least.”
“Same. So how about you get to the point?”
“The point is, Mr. Banks didn’t pay in full. Because of our relationship, we gave him a professional courtesy and granted him a thirty-day grace period. Unfortunately, he was never able to make good on that courtesy, and that’s your boyfriend’s fault.”
“How much? I’ll pay you the difference if you leave us the hell alone and I never have to see you again.”
He tsks. “It doesn’t work like that. Mr. Banks had clients who paid for the chance to spend time with the Richter princess. If they don’t get that chance, we lose all credibility. You understand?”
“I understand you’re a psychopath.”
“There’s no need to name-call. I came here to give you the opportunity to keep your boyfriend out of prison. We’d much prefer you fulfill your obligations willingly.”
“You want me to willingly allow old men to fuck me?”
A sinister smile creeps onto his face, sending up red flags. “Sure. We’ll go with that.”
I stare into space, wondering how much of this is bullshit. Riot was certain there was no evidence left behind, but what if he was wrong? Would I go through with this in order to save him from spending his life behind bars? The answer is yes, of course I would. I could endure one night if it meant all my tomorrows were spent with him.
The better question is, would Riot want me to go through with it? There’s no doubt in my mind that he would not. There’s still so much for me to learn about the man, but I don’t have to be able to finish his sentences to know if I agreed to this, it’d destroy him. It might absolve him from prison, but he would spend the rest of his life blaming himself.
“No,” I say again, this time with more certainty.
He runs his hands down his thighs and pats his knees. “Okay. No problem.”
“That’s it?”
“It?” he asks sardonically as he removes his suit coat, draping it over the back of the couch before unbuttoning the cuff on his uninjured wrist and rolling his shirt up to his elbow to match the other one. “No. That’s notit. What I was offering was the easy way, for both of us. But if you want to play the hard way, I can do that too.”
“What are you talking about?” I kick off my blanket, adrenaline telling me I’ll need to run.
“My father refuses to disappoint his clients, so he sent me to rectify the situation. It was a coincidence you called and got me through the door. It was an even better coincidence that your biker friend wasn’t home. I was okay with shooting him on the spot, but I don’t enjoy clean-up.” He shivers dramatically. “I find it to be beneath me.”
“But abduction is okay?” I scan everything within arm’s reach, searching for a weapon. I could break the plate my lunch was on, but it’s thick ceramic, and I doubt it would cause much damage. I could maybe reach my phone, but what good is that if I don’t have time to dial before he attacks?
There’s nothing. I’m completely defenseless.
He motions to the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I push myself back into the corner of the sofa and hold up my hands, as if that’ll do anything. “No.”
He grabs my uninjured wrist, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “I do love a good fight. Your biker does too, from what I hear at the club we both frequent.” The look on my face must expose me. “Oh, you didn’t know he went to sex clubs? It’s necessary for men like us. He and I aren’t that different.”
“He’s nothing like you,” I spit.
“Agree to disagree.” He tugs my arm, but before he can get me to my feet, I kick out, aiming for his junk but missing and hitting his stomach instead. His only reaction is a grunt.
Deciding he needs a better grip, he goes for my bicep, pulling me up with little effort. I struggle, hitting and kicking, not making it easy for him. Once my arm gets free, I swing up, digging my fingernails into his face and dragging them down his cheek. Small pearls of blood dot the scratches. It does nothing to get me free because he quickly gets me back in his hold, but I’m glad I visibly injured him.
“Let me go!” I shout, dropping all my weight. He loses his grip again, and I fall to the floor. Time feels so precious, so I don’t bother standing, knowing my ankle would just slow me down. Instead, I crawl as far away as I can, which isn’t far at all. He reaches for my good ankle and tugs, dropping me to my stomach.
This is the first time I’ve ever regretted not having carpet because I have no way to stop myself from being dragged along the hardwood floors. Flipping onto my back, I drive my heel into his face and hear thecrunchI was after. Blood drips down his chin, and he releases me long enough to wipe it away.
“You stupid cunt.” He charges forward, grabbing me by my hair and pulling hard. Chunks of hair tear from my scalp, sending sharp, shooting pain through my head. I watch in slow motion as his hand rears back, and I squeeze my eyes shut in preparation for the slap.
