Chapter 9
Sabine
Wife?Dead?
What?
I didn’t even know Astor was married.
My lips part and my heart begins to pound, little red flags screaming at me to get the hell out of this room—ASAP.
Carlos continues. “She killed herself, Astor. My men found her with a wastebasket liner over her head, tied at the neck. She suffocated herself to death.”
Astor remains totally still like a statue—and it’s absolutely terrifying.
Carlos tosses a photograph onto the poker table. It’s of a woman lying on a bathroom floor, her long blond hair fanned around her head like a spiderweb. She’s as pale as the nightgown she’s wearing. Her eyes are closed, her lips a sickening blue. Next to her is a plastic bag.
Carlos then flicks a diamond ring into the air. It bounces several times on the table before settling right in the middle of the picture. Her wedding ring, I presume, based on the size of the diamond.
Astor glances at the photo. He plucks the ring from the table, slides it into his pocket, and then refocuses on the room in a way that suggests he’s taking account of how many men surround him, and where each exit is.
“Where is she?” He refocuses on Carlos.
“Cut into a dozen pieces, chilled in a cooler.”
My jaw drops. Still, not a twitch from Astor.
“I did you a favor, Astor.” Carlos spits. “That woman was a miserable little slu?—”
Like a flash of lightning, Astor leaps over the poker table.
I scream.
The men rush the platform, guns drawn.
Carlos lunges backward, but instead of attacking him, Astor grabs me, whirls me around, and yanks me to him while pulling a knife from his sock.
When he presses the blade to my throat, everyone freezes. I’m too stunned to breathe.
Carlos signals his men to stand down.
The guards discontinue their advance but keep their pistols pointed at Astor’s head—and me, for that matter.
“You will regret this, Carlos. I promise you that.” Astor’s eerily calm voice vibrates through his hard chest, where he has me pinned. “By the time I’m done with you, you will wish you were dead.”
“Let her go, Astor,” Carlos growls. “She’s not part of this.”
“Neither was my wife.”
His wife.
Astor jerks me into movement and begins dragging me across the room. I stumble in my heels, my knees giving out from both imbalance and fear. My eyes go wild, frantically looking back and forth between Carlos and his men.
Why aren’t you helping me?
Why aren’t you doing anything?
“If anyone makes a move—if anyone follows me out of this room or calls the police; if anyone breathes the wrong way—I slit her throat right here, right now.”
My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest.
Why isn’t Carlos helping me?
“Call your guards,” Astor says. “Tell them to let us walk out of here without one word.”
I stare at Carlos as he contemplates this—actually contemplates my life. Finally, Carlos pulls his phone from his pocket and messages the guards.
I am spun around and pushed out the door. The knife is lowered from my neck, and Astor’s fingers splay into mine, gripping my hand so hard I wince in pain, half expecting one of my bones to pop.
“One word from you and I will kill you,” he growls into my ear. “Do you understand?”
I nod, a whimper escaping my lips.
We fall into step together, hand in hand, striding down the same hallway where, hours earlier, I’d mused about how bored I was with my life.
We approach the first guard, a different one from when I checked in. I recognize him as one of Carlos’s right-hand men. Lex something. He’s watching us closely, his tattooed, calloused hand on his gun.
My body tenses, fearing he’s about to kill us both.
He doesn’t. Instead, he hands Astor a safe.
Astor inputs a code and retrieves a pistol, which he hides under his jacket. After that, we’re allowed to pass, though it’s obvious he’s not happy about it. We go through two more checkpoints. Jalen is gone, replaced by another guard. He was my only hope.
We step out of the elevator and into the bustling lobby of Caesars Palace. Hand in hand, I follow Astor’s lead as he slows to reflect a casual meander. We’re smiling, laughing, kissing, and not a single person in the room knows that the man holding my hand has just threatened to kill me. It’s like an out-of-body experience.
Out of nowhere, it seems, a monstrous man joins us, tall and muscular and even scarier than Astor. A tattoo peeks out from under his suit collar, giving me major mafia-kingpin vibes.
He offers me the briefest of glances before falling into step with us like everything is totally normal. Astor calls him Cillian.
We’re led to a stairwell, where Astor and Cillian exchange a few hurried words, none of which I can discern due to the sound of the blood rushing through my ears.
Still gripping my hand, Astor jogs us down the stairwell several levels, then we enter an elevator that I didn’t even know was there.
The mirrored door slides closed.
I stare at the reflection of the man next to me, gripping my hand.
Astor Stone, CEO, billionaire, sex symbol.
Astor Stone, kidnapper.
I blink.
What the hell just happened?