Page 153 of The Vigilante's Lover
“You’re destroying my pretty face for the casket,” I say.
In response, his elbow connects with my belly.
I bend over from the impact but don’t make a sound. When I straighten, I say, “I see you’re a much better fighter when the other guy is restrained.”
He clocks me one more time on the chin. I spin with it to avoid a concussion. The woman who led me into the room steps back and the door closes between us. Carter stands in the corner, watching.
“One more,” he tells Paulson.
While Paulson seems to ponder his next strike, Carter takes a skeleton key like the one I used to escape his silo and sticks it to the face of the table. He punches a button right as Paulson slams his knee into my gut.
With a sizzle and a spark, the electronics in the room go out. Carter tosses his own jacket over the dome. “That was a nice trick you pulled back in Missouri,” he says to me. “And the perfect scenario for what we’re about to do.”
I wonder darkly if they are going to torture me, something not ordinarily sanctioned by Vigilantes.
But he says to Paulson, “That’s enough. You can go.”
Paulson scowls but walks up to the scanner to pass through the door.
I shake off the blows. I’m apparently going to live to see another five minutes. And with the tech down in the room, we can talk freely.
“He could use another round of fight training,” I tell Carter.
“You’re exceptionally tough,” Carter says. “He works well enough for regular humans.” He motions to a chair. “Sit, before I have to explain to someone upstairs why my tech team is so slow at restoring the eyes and ears of the Vigilante network to this room.”
I drop into a chair. I have no idea what to expect now.
2: Mia
Obviously Jax’s ex-lover isn’t going to underestimate me this time.
I wake up from what I assume was some drug, unable to move. The city flies by. We’re still in the blue Acura, and Jovana is driving.
She has me tied with six different ropes and at least ten knots. I recognize all the ones that I can see, but I have no hope of escaping from them. My fingers are literally tied down, then my wrists, then the ropes crisscross all over the place, lashing me to the seat.
“You’re awake,” she says, her “w” more like a “v.” The accent is strong. It makes her seem more exotic and sexy. Her black hair is shiny and sleek, tied up in a loose French twist. Her cheekbones are straight from a magazine, and the black dress she’s wearing looks like it just strutted down a runway.
Jealousy spikes through me. So this is the woman who was Jax’s undoing.
Jovana drives the Acura like a demon from hell, cornering the curves so hard that my head, the only free part of my body, snaps from side to side.
“Stupid civilian vehicle,” she says, then lapses into a stream of what I assume is Russian.
“You don’t have a fancy Vigilante car?” I ask, then lean my head away at her withering glare.
“Shut up,” she says. “It’s bad enough I have to endure your presence. I don’t want to hear your yapping mouth.”
All jealousy evaporates. Jax chose a real peach. Maybe she’s mad that I’m not quaking in my ankle boots.
I look down at my trussed-up body. I swear I’m tied up more often than I’m loose these days. What a crazy life.
I don’t care a whit that she just told me to shut up. If I offend or annoy her, all the better. “Where are we going?” I ask. I shake my head, trying to clear the fuzziness, probably left over from whatever she gave me to make it easier to tie me up. I guess I should be glad it wasn’t a snuff dart.
She ignores me, punching her finger on the screen. When she finds nothing but the original owner’s data, she taps her phone against it like Colt did. Then she hits a name I’m very familiar with.
Klaus.
I can’t picture him clearly, having only encountered him in the dark, his cigarette a small glow of light. But Jax did show me his picture as we prepared to encounter them after the MMA fight. The screen gives nothing away, though, as it links through. Only his name is visible.
