Page 50 of Vow to Protect
Plastic strips bite and sting the quick pulse in my wrists. Minutes and hours cement into one colossal nightmare. I’ve no idea what time it is, if it's twilight, dawn or midday. Dexter clipped my skull with a revolver when we exited Brett’s apartment block. I came around in the backseat of a car a few moments ago. Then he hauled me into this office and anchored me to the seat before Blaine.
“Turns out, Mr. De Courcy has a kid.” A drawer slides open. Metal tinkles like tiny bells of hell. “What a fucking revelation. That same pretty little princess is your sister’s kid.”
“Really,” I snip.
Blaine smirks. “Did you know the kid was hers?”
“No.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“My sister and I weren’t close.” My shoulders bob with a casual gesture.
Blaine chuckles. Thick lashes blink once. “So it was fate that the same man who knocked up your sister, stole you away from Law during a random gang skirmish and locked you in his apartment?” An eyebrow quirks. He raises a thin handle, black tipped with shiny silver. Then from within, a blade flicks out and splices the stale air. My mind screams at the sight of that specific knife. He clucks his tongue twice. “Natalie hid a child from me. Their child.”
I wiggle my fingers to keep the blood flow steady. “Coincidence,” I suggest, darting a gaze at the steel blade flexing a beam of light into my face.
“That entitled wanker thinks he’s smarter than me.” The muscles in his forearms tense when his fingers grip tighter. A deep line etches his brow. Pouty lips pinch together while his eyes wander over the weapon. The non-responsive consideration of his next move flips my belly. “Does he know that you’re her sister? Is that why he stuck his nose into my business?”
I shake my head, wincing as the lump on my skull reminds me of the barrel blast from earlier. “He didn’t allow me to speak.” I spill out fabricated truths.
Metallic unforgiving eyes roll. “So he wanted you for sex? Kidnapped you and then made you hang out with your niece?” I nod in agreement, highly aware of a vein pulsating in my throat.
An unfriendly glower lands on my neck with a look of distaste for the life source. “Did he fuck you?” The room temperature drops to subzero. What’s the right answer to that question?
I glance up to the ceiling. “Yes.”
“Hmmm. You looked left. I’m glad you’re being honest with me, unlike your sister.” He flashes an insincere smile my way. “Okay. You have two choices.”
The tingling in my hands intensifies until they don't feel like my hands anymore. I shift in the chair, peering into the dark corners of the occupied room. A finger snap brings my attention back to Blaine. “Eyes this way.”
My right knee bounces, annoying him even more. “Sit still.” The sharp edge taps the desk. A grave reminder of his deadly abilities. “Or I’ll give you something to squirm about,” he says with the usual disinterested tone.
Bastard. I want to wedge that knife in his tongue, pin it to the wall and use his back for a dartboard. “Either return to Mr. De Courcy and bring the girl to me—” My heart withers. “Or you can leave through that door.”
With this man, nothing is that straightforward. He’ll never let me leave the room, unless it's my soul exiting my body.
Cheers blast into the calmness. A door handle smacks the wall. “Ah, the very man I was trying to reach.” His glare leaves me. I rotate my neck, straining to see behind me. “Look who we have here! I’ve brought you the woman who was stolen from your compound. I know you didn’t want her at the time because I cut her up a bit. But, nonetheless, she’s stolen property.” Blaine offers me a satisfied smile, eyeing my reaction. Those soulless orbs chill me in the baron depths of his emotional detachment. “You’ve arrived in time to hear what she wants to do.” Adrenaline hustles around my muscles. “What will it be? Bring me the girl, like Henri Cartier would have done, or take your leave?”
My head shakes.
Words reel.
Ugly laughter snickers.
Prickles race over my right cheek.
Henri Cartier.
My father.
“What?” I flinch at the sound of my distress. “Myfather?” A palm rests on my shoulder. I instantly find the owner. Glacial eyes numb my turmoil. I’ve seen that mesmerizing shade of blue before.
“Yes, Miss Cartier.” Blaine confirms. “The very same man who led my younger self away from my family. That guy.”
Bile fizzes in my throat. “You’re lying,” I choke out, shirking off the weighty hand. “You’ve never met my father. This is one of your sick games.”
My accusation gains a morbid laugh. Blaine positions the flick knife in my line of vision and temples his fingers. “Are you really that naïve? Surely you knew Henri was a transporter?” He cocks his head.
