Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Chloe climbed out of the car, tempted to throw herself on the ground and cry “land” after their brutal journey. She’d never been in a car so long in her life. Instead, she looked up and froze.
It was an impressive edifice. They’d passed many old Moorish structures in various states of disrepair during their endless journey through Spain, but this looked like a small palace.
The front was a fortress, but she could see the tile work leading into the center courtyard where a fountain splashed happily.
Her tension began to lessen. Bastien was inside, and if he wasn’t specifically waiting for her, at least he’d wanted Luc to bring her to him.
To her surprise, Luc came and took her arm, leading her past the blank walls into the building, and she started for the courtyard. His hand tightened slightly.
“This way,” he said, and his monumental bad temper had deserted him. Now that they had reached their destination, he seemed positively mellow, though the hand on her arm was perhaps tighter than it needed to be.
Skirting the central courtyard, he took her down a side hallway, one that was lit only by a single ornate lamp overhead. She considered asking him where Bastien was, but she kept quiet. Doubtless, Luc was taking her to him, and her heart quickened.
They were going deeper into the old building, down a small flight of stairs, and there were no windows, just the thick stone walls of the old fortress. She moved forward eagerly, when she saw two men coming toward them.
They were wearing some kind of quasi-military uniform, though she suspected they weren’t part of any army. “Here she is,” Luc announced, and sudden fear filled her.
It was nothing compared to the panic when they took her from Luc, one on either side of her, holding her arms behind her back painfully and fastening them together with something, presumably a zip tie.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Where’s…Jean-Marc?”
“These are Jean-Marc’s orders,” Luc said. “Behave yourself and…”
She screamed, twisting in their arms. “Help! Someone help me! Bastien!”
“Keep her quiet!” Luc snarled.
She lunged at him, but it was useless with the iron hands holding her back. “Let me go!” she screamed, trying to break free, but she was helpless against their brute strength. “Don’t do this!”
The impassive men simply started dragging her away, as Luc looked on. “I’m sorry, Chloe,” he called after her, sounding genuinely regretful. “But Jean-Marc gave orders, and I have to follow them.”
She didn’t believe him. Not after the last night they’d had together, but her struggles were availing her nothing, and they dragged her, fighting and screaming, down another flight of stairs, farther and farther away from the betraying Luc.
She half-expected them to throw her into a dungeon.
The room they shoved her into wasn’t much better—an empty space with a metal cot and nothing else.
There were no windows but a louvered shutter up at the top of the high ceiling, and she knew she was too far away for anyone to hear her screams. They shoved her, and she went sprawling on the stone floor.
By the time she managed to sit up, they were gone, and the sound of the lock clicking was final and deadly.
It took her a minute to calm her panicked breathing.
They hadn’t unfastened the ties that were holding her arms back, and her shoulders were already starting to ache.
Bastien had taught her how to escape from zip ties years ago, but in her panic, the memory was gone, and she yanked at them painfully, frustration and anger bringing tears to her eyes.
How long were they going to keep her down there?
Why would Bastien want her held prisoner?
But then, she’d always been a prisoner to him, hadn’t she, albeit one he wanted to fuck.
They were sparing themselves the trouble of watching her.
She struggled to her feet, awkward without her hands to support her, and looked around her.
There were cameras up near the ceiling, small but unmistakable, and she wished she had her middle finger free.
She was not going to let this get to her—they couldn’t keep her here forever.
She bit back her sudden emotion, steeling herself. She was not going to let them win.
She twitched her wrists within the bondage, realizing with sudden relief that there was a certain amount of give in them.
She was small-boned, and she wiggled her hands, managing to squeeze one hand through, then the other and tossing the damned ties on the floor.
The first step accomplished, she fulfilled her fantasy and gave the camera her middle finger, snarling to keep from crying.
It had been a long, exhausting few days, and she was very near her breaking point. She wouldn’t let it happen.
She went straight to the door, checking to see that it was locked, pounding on it in frustration. “Let me out!” she cried. “Let me speak to Jean-Marc. He wouldn’t want this.”
But there was no answer, no sound from beyond the locked room, and she remembered Luc’s words, the pitying expression on his face. “They were his orders,” he’d told her and she had no choice but to believe him. Why would he lie?
Where the hell were they? Instinct told her it wasn’t Bastien’s home—he wouldn’t have had time to buy such a place in the six weeks she hadn’t heard from him.
And why would he have two goons like the ones who had shoved her in here?
Bastien had never been the kind of man to delegate things, and even though he seemed to have forgotten who he was, he hadn’t changed that much.
He was still the man she’d married, the man she’d loved for fifteen years.
She was a mass of pain—her fists hurt from pounding the door, her back hurt from the endless drive, her shoulders hurt from having her arms behind her back.
No one was going to listen to her cries, no one was coming to help her.
To make matters worse, she was almost lightheaded from lack of food, and it didn’t appear as if anyone was in a hurry to feed her.
Maybe she was going to get a diet of bread and water.
Or nothing at all. She dragged herself back to the narrow cot.
The mattress looked thin and lumpy, and the only cover was a threadbare blanket.
She lay down anyway, too tired to care. She would figure a way out of here.
But for now, she had to rest, regain her strength.
And then she was going to find Bastien and kill him.
The man calling himself Jean-Marc looked up when Luc strode into his room without knocking.
At the first sound, he thought it might be Maddelena again—fighting her off had been practically a full-time job.
He didn’t stop to wonder why he bothered—he just sent her on her way with varying degrees of force.
Last night, she’d crawled into bed with him, drunk and weepy, and he’d booted her out with no ceremony.
He couldn’t remember how long they’d been married, he only knew he didn’t want her, or any of the women there.
The only woman who interested him was long gone, as she should be.
“You’re back,” he said unnecessarily. “I trust everything went according to plan?”
“I dropped her off at the Milan airport with five hundred euros,” Luc said. “That should get her safely home. I still disagree—she knew too much of our business, but you’re the boss.”
“Don’t let Le Faucon hear you say that,” he said.
“Does he agree with your decision? He’s always been a careful man—no loose ends and all that.”
“Ask him yourself. You’ll see him at dinner.” Jean-Marc hesitated. “So, she didn’t put up any arguments?”
“Who? Chloe? Not at all. I think she was just happy to get away from us.”
He nodded, telling himself he was relieved. She’d been nothing but trouble, and then a distraction. She should be safely back where she belonged by now, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her.
Not that he did worry about her, he reminded himself. He had other, more important things on his mind than the woman who’d accidentally gotten caught up with their plans.
“How have the headaches been?” Luc asked. “Have you been taking your pills?”
“I never miss a dose,” he lied. “No headaches.”
“Make sure you don’t. You know how debilitating those headaches are.”
He raised his eyes to Luc’s bespectacled ones.
“I’m no fool,” he said lightly. In fact, he’d stopped taking the little blue pills Luc fed him a couple of days ago, and there’d been no sudden, blinding headache.
The headaches that had been plaguing him were all but gone.
In return, he had to put up with strange, convoluted dreams and peculiar half-memories, but his head was clearer, and it was a worthwhile trade-off.
Last night, he’d woke with Chloe’s name on his breath, pissing him off.
She was gone, and he never had to think about her again.
But he did. Taking the pills again would probably wipe her from his mind, but for some strange reason, he didn’t want her to go.
“I’ve got a new bottle of them,” Luc said helpfully. “I’ll get you a glass of water to take them with.”
“I already took mine for today.”
“An extra one won’t hurt you.”
Why had he never noticed how insistent Luc was about those fucking pills? Purportedly, they were supposed to cure the monumental headaches that had been plaguing him, so bad that he could barely think straight. But Luc had always been strangely insistent, as he was being now.
“Sure,” Jean-Marc said easily, watching as Luc took the big bottle from one of the capacious pockets of his flak jacket.
“Take two,” Luc said, dropping two of them into his hand.
He didn’t argue, simply cheeking the two pills as he swallowed a gulp of water. The moment Luc had his back turned he would spit them out.