Page 101 of Hunted

Lewis exited first, swiftly followed by his pals, leaving me alone in the cabin.

I could so easily take this back down to the lobby and bail right now. He’d never catch me in time.

But the Academy would.

“You’ve got this, Deadly,” my t-shirt giver whispered into my ear, giving me the confidence to step out whether he knew it or not. “That’s my girl.”

Lewis—oblivious to my split-second indecision—opened the door to his suite with a gold-plated key card he kept in the same pocket as his wallet. He extended an arm, impatiently waiting for me to enter what he probably thought was my cage for the night.

Little did he know it was really a tomb.

“We’ve lost visuals, Addie,” Van warned.

My Louboutins didn’t falter once as I clacked my way into the art-deco-styled apartment, conjuring Gatsby in the best way. I didn’t stop until I reached the floor-to-ceiling window on the far side of the room.

Blackwing had nothing on this view.

The River Thames looked like nothing more than a winding, black silk ribbon from this height, at this time of night. Its inky surface reflected every glimmering light it could reach, borrowing them from surrounding buildings and streetlights. Every flicker danced like glitter to the beat of the current—like the heartbeat of a city that never slept.

Tower Bridge stretched across the ribbon far off in the distance. Lit like a beacon, it was impossible to ignore. And if I squinted past it, all the way to where darkness claimed the streets with outstretched fingers, I could almost make out my old apartment building—from before.

Glancing down at the strapless crimson gown adorning my frame, the black leather pumps cocooning my feet, and the dainty diamond bracelet encircling my wrist like a sparkly shackle, I couldn’t help but recognise just how far I’d come since then.

I was an entirely different person now—so different I wasn’t sure I’d fit back into my old home. And despite my new, unwanted role, I didn’t think I’d want to go back and claim that old life anyway.

A cigar-and-whisky-scented body pressed up behind me, shoving me against the cold glass in a move that could have been erotic if I’d had the right dance partner. Instead, all I had was the knowledge that Lewis was line dancing while I was doing ballet.

His erection strained against the fabric of his trousers and he wasted no time letting me know about it—no better than a teenage boy going through his dry-humping phase, thinking it was hot.

But I guess in Lewis’ world, you buy things to break them, not the other way around.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, tasting the shell of my ear. “The view… the woman.”

He slid a hand between my body and the pane of glass, wrapping it around my stomach to squeeze my left breast. Hard.

“And the whole city can watch as I fuck you. They can see what ten thousand gets a man like me on any given night. Something they’ll never be able to afford. Someone they’ll never have.”

Then he snapped me back from the window so quickly I had whiplash, spinning me directly into the arms of another man.

“Because once we’re done with you, little birdy, there’s not gonna be anything left to fuck,” Randall sneered.

“Did you—” Van began only to be silenced by Beck’s hard shh.

Surrounded by a quartet of merciless men, I relaxed into Randall’s hold knowing I was the most lethal person in the room—and the most underestimated.

With Randall pinning my arms behind my back so he could run his teeth up the side of my neck unchallenged, I had a clear view of Lewis unlatching his leather belt and Spencer with what’s-his-face in the background snorting lines of coke while they watched on eagerly.

Randall bit down and I hissed. That’d leave a bruise. His package twitched against my ass, telling me everything I needed to know about Lewis’ right hand man.

He folded his belt in half, snapping it so it cracked like a whip—the way little men did when they had too much to prove and too little hardware to do any kind of damage with. They needed to inflict damage in other ways.

Like with an expensive leather belt.

Spencer and what’s-his-face padded up on either side of me, each grasping the front of my gown with powdered fingers. Their intent was clear: they were going to tear it clean off.

Beck’s face flashed into my mind—the Beck that was with me in Stanley’s dressing room—and I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining this particular dress. If anyone was going to do it, I realised, I wanted it to be him.

“Wait!” I shouted, suddenly breathless. “Wait,” I said again as Lewis hesitated. “I have to use the restroom before we begin. All that alcohol went straight to my bladder.” I shrugged as much as I was able with Randall still holding my arms captive, and added a touch of plea to my tone.