Chapter 7 – BODHI #2
“NO.” The word is followed by a thunderous kick against the door, hard enough to rattle it in its frame and send specks of dust swirling in the dim light. “You fucking prick. Let me out.”
Another kick. Then another. Her fists pound against the oak in a furious rhythm.
Igor snorts, shaking his head as we walk down the hallway, her rage fading behind us with every step. “Good luck with that one, Lennox. She’s going to be a handful.”
The tour doesn’t take long, but Igor makes sure I see everything that matters.
We wind through corridors panelled in dark wood, past unmarked doors that all look the same, and down a back staircase that opens near a functional kitchen where staff in white uniforms carefully avoid eye contact.
The guards’ quarters are in the basement.
It’s a converted wine cellar with tiny single rooms and a common area that smells like stale cigarettes and cheap beer.
At one end, there’s a security hub, which is a cramped room barely larger than a closet, crammed with monitors that flicker with grainy footage of every angle of the outside of the property.
The front gates. The perimeter fence with its razor-wire crown.
The long driveway that cuts through immaculate grounds and ends in a sweeping turning circle outside the massive entrance.
Entrances and exits, all of it watched and recorded.
And one camera pointed at an open basement door, and the ominous darkness beneath.
“What’s down there?” I nod toward a corridor on one screen of the monitor bank, showing the opposite wing, blocked by a heavy door with a guard stationed in front of it.
There’s something worth protecting in there. Other than the basement, this is the only interior camera I can see.
“East wing. Off limits.” Igor’s expression shutters, closing down like a door slamming shut.
“Emma isn’t the only asset that’s being kept here.
This one’s just a bit more… high profile.
And on a strictly need to know basis.” He shrugs, rolling his shoulders as if he’s talking about paintings or jewelry rather than human beings.
“You just worry about keeping the virgin a virgin. Some of these men have no self-discipline. If they get the chance, they won’t be able to help themselves. ”
One of the guards, stocky with a previously broken nose, shakes his head, but his grin tells of his amusement. He clearly finds the risk of these women being assaulted by the men in this house funny.
Staring at the screen, I concentrate on keeping the anger off my face and my hands by my sides. My bear snarls, hackles rising, but I keep my expression blank and my posture relaxed, just another hired thug who doesn’t ask too many questions.
“Understood.”
Igor’s phone buzzes in his pocket; the sudden noise harsh in the quiet room. He fishes it out, squinting at the screen, then his expression shifts and tension appears in his posture.
“Kozlov’s ten minutes out.” He pockets the phone, then fixes me with a hard look, all traces of casual amusement gone from his weathered face. “Stay out of his way when he arrives. Post up outside the girl’s door and don’t move until you’re told otherwise.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, then leans in close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
“You’ve been promoted to the big time, Lennox.” His voice drops, low and serious. “Don’t fuck it up. Kozlov doesn’t do second chances. If he decides you’re not up to the job…” He mimes a gun to his temple and makes a soft pew sound with his lips. “Got it?”
“Got it.” The beast within rails against his touch, perceiving it as an act of aggression. And in a way, it is. Igor’s trying to assert his dominance, letting me know he’s higher up in the pecking order than me.
But bears don’t give a fuck about hierarchy. The strongest wins. Simple as that.
Like he senses the power inside me that surges forward, eager to put him in his place, Igor releases my shoulder and steps back, jerking his chin toward the door. “Good. Now get lost.”
Bristling at the command, at the assumption that I’ll heel like a trained dog, I make my way back through the maze of corridors, retracing my steps through the darkened hallways until I reach the blue wing.
The door to Emma’s room is silent now, and somehow, the quiet is worse than her fury.
I lean against the wall opposite her door and settle my shoulders against the wood panelling, then cross my arms over my chest. The hallway is dim and quiet, with nothing but shadows and the distant sound of footsteps somewhere below.
I fish my phone from my pocket, careful to keep my movements casual and the screen angled away from view before I open the app Chase installed.
The feed flickers to life, grainy but clear enough.
Emma isn’t pounding on the door anymore, isn’t pacing or raging or plotting her revenge.
She’s slumped against it with her back pressed to the heavy wood, and her knees pulled up to her chest. Her head is buried in her hands, and her shoulders shake with silent sobs racking her whole body.
The blue silk of her dress is twisted around her, bare feet are pale against the dark hardwood floor, and she looks small.
Fragile. Nothing like the woman I had to wrestle in her room earlier.
All that fire, all that fury, was anger at having no control.
Now that she’s alone, it’s crumbling.
My bear whines, clawing at me to go back in there, to break down that door and pull her into my arms, holding her tightly until the shaking stops. To tell her that I’ll burn this whole operation to the ground before I let anyone touch her.
But I know I can’t.
Instead, I stand in the hallway with the phone screen glowing in my palm, watching my mate fall apart on the other side of a locked door and hating myself for every second of it.
She’s magnificent, even like this. Infuriating and brave, yet so stubborn that it makes me want to kiss her.
But these men aren’t like me. They’ll see her spirit as a challenge, something to be broken and beaten down until there’s nothing left but compliance.
If she doesn’t learn to pick her battles, she’s going to get hurt. Or worse.
On the screen, she lifts her head from her hands, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms, and sucks in a deep breath.
Even tear-streaked and exhausted, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I’m amazed that once again, there’s defiance in the set of her jaw and in the way she squares her shoulders and pushes herself up off the floor.
That’s my girl.
The crunch of tyres on gravel drifts up from somewhere below, with the sound of an engine cutting out, and car doors slamming.
A mixture of dread and excitement builds inside me. Hopefully, I can start making some progress toward getting the women out of here, and this depraved organisation out of business.
Because Kozlov is here.