Page 32 of Cold Bastard
I was surrounded, trapped, and the worst part wasn’t just my fear. It was my shame. The knowledge that I put myself in this position. That my own choices had led me to this terrifying precipice.
I spun back to face the man, whoever the hell he was. He was closer now, his presence an oppressive weight. Close enough that I could see the intricate, brutal tattoos on his forearms, each line seeming to whisper of violence. Close enough that I could smell leather and engine oil and something darker underneath, something that hinted at a hunger I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
Do I beg? Do I fight?Fighting was suicide. Begging would make me look even weaker.What kind of person am I that I ended up here?What choice did I have left that didn’t feel like a betrayal of myself, of everything I thought I stood for? I couldn’t just give them what they wanted. But I had to do something. And I had a sickening feeling that whatever I did, it would be the wrong thing.
“You set me up,” I said, my voice shaking. “You knew who I was the whole time.”
“Of course I did.” He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he was solving. “You reached out tome, sweetheart. You made it too easy.”
Sweetheart.The word was a slap. Condescending. Possessive.
“What do you want?” I demanded, trying to sound braver than I felt.
His smile turned sharp. “I already told you. I’m here to collect a debt.” He stepped closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. “I’m here to collect you.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and final.
You.
“What?” I whispered.
His smile didn’t waver as I looked around again. At the men surrounding me. At the darkness pressing in from all sides. At the complete and utter lack of escape routes. I walked into this trap willingly. Driven here myself. Handed myself over to the very people I had been running from. And the worst part? I thought I was smart. Thought I was one step ahead. But I never was. I had been the prey from the moment I clicked on that dark web post.
And now the hunter had me.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “Alexandra Jones, you just became the Brotherhood’s property.”
The words sent ice through my veins.
Property.
Not a prisoner. Not a hostage.
Property.
I looked up at him, at those cold, beautiful eyes, and saw my future reflected back at me.
I stole from the Brotherhood of Bastards.
And now he was going to make me pay.
Chapter Ten
Nano
Three days. Three motherfucking days of this bitch testing every ounce of control I had. Seventy-two hours of her screaming, fighting, spitting venom like she had any fucking right to resist what was coming. Like she hadn’t stolen seventy-five million dollars and thought she could just disappear. I had broken hardened criminals faster than Alexandra Jones.
The first night, she screamed until her voice cracked. Called me every name she could think of. Her face purple with rage, spit flying from her mouth. She kicked the back of my seat so many times that I finally reached back, grabbed her ankle and squeezed until she whimpered. The sound, that small, pathetic whimper, scraped at something deep inside me, a raw nerve I long thought cauterized.
It reminded me of...
Fuck, Foley, don’t go there.
The second day, she tried to run away at a gas station in Nebraska. Made it fifteen feet before Scythe caught her by her hair, then dragged her back across the pavement. Her knees left blood smears on the concrete. He had thrown her in the back seat, and when she tried to bite him, he backhanded her hard enough to split her lip.
I watched it happen as my gut twisted.
Scythe was a tool, efficient and brutal, but seeing her broken like that, the raw fear in her eyes... a cold dread settled in my chest. I told myself she deserved it, that she was nothing more than a thief, that she stole the club’s money. But watching her bleed, watching her flinch when Scythe so much as looked at her, felt like a violation.
