Page 26 of Diamond in the Rough (The Diamond Trilogy 1)
“Better me than someone else.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you were a target from before you got on that plane. I haven’t hurt you, have I? I think I’ve been very careful with you. I will continue to be careful. This won’t last forever.”
“What did North do? Why was he hurt?”
He makes a dismissive sound. “He got in my way.”
“What happens if I get in your way?”
A sharp glance. “I shouldn’t tell you this.”
“Tell me what?”
“It jeopardizes everything, but I can’t have you getting yourself killed.”
“Your concern for my safety is touching.”
“I’m an Interpol agent. I got involved after a string of diamond robberies through Italy.”
I stare at him as the words filter through pain and panic. “You’re what?”
He glances behind him. “The other men won’t be far off. I need you to keep this secret. It’s important. Life or death. You hold that power over me now, Holland.”
“That’s crazy. I—I don’t believe you.”
He doesn’t look particularly concerned about that. “The important thing is that you stay put in the cell and don’t make trouble. I can’t believe North let you escape.”
“He didn’t let me escape. He helped me. That’s what good men do when a woman has been kidnapped and held captive in their shared prison cell.”
A sharp laugh. “North is not a good man.”
I feel strangely protective of him, even though it’s probably true. Whether I believe Adam or not, North is clearly a criminal. Rough edges. Crude language. Questionable ethics. This sense of loyalty is completely misplaced. “You don’t know him.”
“I know plenty about him.” A quiet laugh. “Like the fact that he killed his father. The man has balls, I give him that. Most people don’t have it in them to kill their parents.”
Two men burst into the clearing, and Adam stands. They look at the unmoving body beside me, bloodied and broken. Is he dead? Or just injured?
Adam gives a one-shoulder Gallic shrug. “Peter? He got in my way.”
CHAPTER TEN
North
There’s a game you learn to play when your parent’s an abusive fuck.
It’s called, it could have been worse.
Every night if I wasn’t dead or dying, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. At least my brothers were with me. They sneaked food home when they could. We had a roof over our heads, however decrepit and dirty. At least I’m not sunk to the bottom of the lake like our mother. It’s how you convince yourself that everything is fine. It’s how you live to see another day.
That’s the game I’ve been playing in this cell. I’m slowly bleeding out, probably infected and diseased from this hellhole. Dehydrated and dying, but it could have been worse. I could be taking someone with me. At least I’m alone.
And then this woman shows up. Holly.
It’s not her fault, not her choice, but that doesn’t stop me from resenting her. They’re going to hurt her, and it’s going to break me. It would be bad enough if she were a stranger, but now I know who she is. Now she’s someone to me.
So when they drag her downstairs and lock her up, I don’t say a word.
She curls up against the wall, a small, round shadow. It reminds me of those little roly-polies. I would pick them up from the dirt, and they would curl into a ball in my palm.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a message to your brother.”
The brittle shell around me cracks. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You should try to rest.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
She sounds like an adorable child. “It’s night already. You’ve had a busy day.”
“He said you killed your father.”
Christ. “Adam is a bastard. Don’t believe a word he says.”
“And why should I believe anything you say?”
“You shouldn’t.” I’m the worst kind of bastard, and the only regret I have is telling Adam one night. Fresh from the theft, drunk off my ass, pulsing with recklessness. Even that shouldn’t have been reason enough. Maybe because we’re trapped in this godforsaken church. Who uses an old French church as their hideout? Adam Bisset, naturally.
“Did you do it? Kill him?”
I thought of the coldest, meanest, slowest way I could kill someone. Torture would have been nice. His hands strapped to a chair. My fist swinging again and again. I could have kept him in a basement over days, over weeks. I didn’t have the stomach for that. My hands around his neck. A quick struggle. His eyes in shock while I told him the reason.
“Did he deserve it?”
He deserved it for beating my brothers. Liam. Josh. He deserved it for beating me. There are no words to describe what he deserved for killing my mother. For digging a hole somewhere on that godforsaken property and burying her in the lake. “Yes.”
Her shadow moves until she’s lying on the floor. “Are we going to die here?”
