Chapter 69
Genevieve
I let myself into the one-room apartment using the code I was sent, breathing in the stale, musty air.
This place isn’t swanky, but then again, I didn’t expect it to be, not in this part of town.
I never thought I’d be here again, on this street, in this area of the city, but I suppose it makes sense for things to end here since we’re only a block from where this all started.
Sprawling comfortably onto the old, stained black couch, I make myself comfortable.
I can practically hear Ford worrying about me.
There’s nothing I can do to assuage him now.
I have no choice but to pray that I was right about everything.
The air conditioning cycles on, whirring to life right alongside the rattling nerves that I attempt to suppress.
I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else, but there’s a piece of me that’s nervous, bordering on freaking the fuck out. But there was no way I was going to let anyone else fight my battle for me. This is my war to wage, win or lose.
I stare at the digital clock across the room, watching the numbers tick down far too slowly. I’ve run through every possible scenario of this meeting, and I’m confident that this will play out exactly how I planned.
With Ford and Drake busy with the FBI, there’s no one to rescue me, and I hope things are going smoothly for them.
That’s all I have: hope. Ford can take care of himself, but if for some reason, things go wrong, he’s got Drake to back him up.
Ford’s a soldier, a fighter, but I am, too.
I might not be a Marine, but I’m no less deadly.
An eternity—which is really only three minutes—later, I hear the lock disengage, presumably with the same four-digit code I typed in, and watch as the door handle moves, internally bracing myself.
Ensuring my face is a mask of chilly indifference, I remark as the door opens then closes, leaving me alone with the enemy, relief settling into my veins. I knew I’d read him correctly. “Funny, I remember Bree being far prettier and a tad less hairy.”
“And I remember you being smarter than this.”
I smirk, inwardly rolling my eyes to the heavens, but this is exactly the confirmation that I read Percy York correctly. I was banking on Bree not being the one to show at the appointment I booked with her under my real name.
His hair is slicked back, his beady eyes alight, and I question the tactics he used to try to steal my entire business out from beneath me.
He had to have threatened some serious bodily harm because there’s no way he’s smooth enough to talk my clientele and employees into working for him.
Not when his personality is about as charming as a great white shark.
The calmest person in the room is often the strongest, so the key to success is keeping a level head, no matter how disgusting I find this man.
“Do you know what else I remember?” The greasy politician strides closer, and when he stands before me, he thrusts his fingers into my hair.
I let him, though I grit my teeth, controlling the urge to curl my lip as I wait to see what he’s going to say next.
“I remember this as being black and about eight inches longer.”
What the fuck is he talking about? Is my natural hair something Henry shared with him?
My eyebrows crinkle as I maneuver my head out of his grasp.
He must read the confusion on my face because his lips twist into a gruesome smile that makes my insides churn.
“I think I recall you being a far more compliant whore than you are these days, and one hell of a sucker. At least that’s what I heard. ”
Before I can stop them, my eyes widen, and he chuckles, the sound crawling beneath my skin. “Didn’t notice I was there, too, did you? Understandable, given how occupied you were that night.”
That can’t be right. Surely, I’m misunderstanding, except…
My chest seizes as the words he’s spoken settle over me like a noxious gas threatening to suffocate me. No, no.
How did I miss this? I put that night behind me, and it’s been so long since anything truly took me back there.
The feel of the unyielding hardwood floors digging into my kneecaps as if I were kneeling on razor blades.
The omnipresent fireplace to my right, watching as the worst night of my life unfolds with unseeing eyes.
The nauseating scent of cigars and liquor masking the unmistakable hint of Italian food that seems to linger.
My scalp burns, but it doesn’t begin to compare to the pain searing through my core, radiating through the rest of my body. But the worst agony is happening in my chest, my precious heart splintering further by the second.
Fat teardrops fall from my face to the floor, adding to the small puddle of drool and misery on the wood below my chin. A ripple of dark, sinister chuckles resounds, but I don’t know what they’re laughing at. Probably me.
Percy’s voice cuts through the horrific nightmare I endured. “Leo told me he had something special with you, but I didn’t believe him until I saw it with my own eyes, even though you were my top earner.”
Leo. Something special. Saw it with my own eyes. My brain trips over itself in an attempt to make sense of what he’s telling me. How does Leo play into this?
“Your top earner?” My voice is more ragged than I’d like, if a little unsteady. Although, at this point, it’s a miracle I was able to speak at all, especially with the bile rising up my esophagus.
“You didn’t know.” He tilts his head, his expression mocking and sinister. “That’s right, Leo worked for me. When Grady mentioned the obedient submissive he was training, I had to see for myself.”
Vomiting becomes a veritable possibility as my mouth waters with dread. “You organized that, that…event?”
His smile is all wrong, a thing of nightmares. “No, that was all Grady, but I certainly wasn’t going to miss the show.”
I swallow hard, chest constricting as it becomes more difficult to suck down air, and I realize with horror that I’m in the middle of what’s sure to become a full-blown panic-attack if I don’t regain control of myself.
It’s been ages since I had something set me off—years, actually—and this is a terrible time to break the streak.
Unfortunately, my trauma doesn’t seem to care.
Just then, there’s a knock at the door, and Percy huffs as he goes to answer it. But I can’t get a hold of myself to move; I’m frozen, unable to hide or think straight enough to potentially defend myself. If the man on the other side of that door has a weapon, I’m as good as dead.
Everything hurts. I feel as though I’m being split in half as spasms of agony rocket through me. I’m vaguely aware that I’m bleeding, but I don’t dare move a muscle or make a sound. My body has shut down, numbness setting in to cope with the ineffable situation.
I can’t die here.
Something hot and wet splashes across my face and I suppress the urge to be sick…
barely. Suddenly, I’m pushed into a new position, a chunk of my hair being ripped out from the force of the action, forcing more tears to leak from the corners of my eyes.
My face is pressed to the floor; the side of my nose scrunched against the spot where my tears and spit has gathered.
I squeak as my arm, still sore and healing from Leo’s torment, is wrenched into an uncomfortable position behind my back. A loud crack echoes through the room, but I don’t part my eyelids to see what made it, nor do I feel it if it lands against me. I’m…empty now.
The men steal the jagged shards of my soul one piece at a time, leaving me with nothing but a hollow chest and a broken body. There’s a single sliver of solace floating in my subconsciousness that I latch onto like a lifeboat amid this storm: a man a whole continent away.
The frightening ghosts of my past mingle with the knowledge that I’m not in control right now. In the back of my mind, I know that if I don’t pull myself out of this spiral, my heart could beat for the last time on this disgusting couch.
My stomach riots with nausea as suppressed memories from that night flood the beach of my mind in tidal waves. I can’t seem to build a mental barricade fast enough to keep them out.
Screwing my eyes shut, I force myself to take measured breaths the way I taught myself in Amsterdam.
Breathe in for four counts, hold for four, breathe out for four, hold for four.
I repeat the box breathing technique several more times until my vision returns to normal and my mind grips onto a frayed thread of reality while Percy is still momentarily preoccupied.
I’m not powerless. I’m in control. I’m not a victim.
“For the last time, I told you to leave me alone until I called you,” Percy snaps.
“I brought you a gun,” the male voice replies, somewhat nervously. “You told me to tell you if there was any troub—”
Percy doesn’t reply. He simply slams the door shut in the face of whoever stood on the other side. Did he take the gun?
What was the trouble? Is it Ford? Did something happen with him? Or is it danger entirely unrelated to me?
I can admit it now; Drake was right. This was a suicide mission, especially since I didn’t know exactly who Percy York was, nor was I aware of his connection to me. This is bad, really bad.
“Where were we?” Percy inquires aloud, striding toward me, thankfully without a weapon in his hands.
I couldn’t answer, even if I wanted to. “Oh, that’s right, we were just about to talk about the way your sweet voice called Grady ‘Master.’ I still think about the way you sounded when you said that word.
I’ve gotten off to it more than once over the years.
I’ve made my own employees call me that. ”
Master. The word transports me right back to the savagery I endured, the brief semblance of calm I’d regained evaporating faster than dew.
Grady’s fingers slide into my hair, fisting it painfully as his erection forces its way past my lips.