Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Jericho
The overpowering chemical scent of the sedative fades, and the pungent stink of smelling salts takes its place. Franko’s chest heaves under his torn and dirty suit, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat as his eyelids flutter open. A pathetic, choked groan leaves his lips.
Franko tries to lift his hands, but the heavy steel chair holds him in place. The sharp, metallic clink of the heavy chains binding his torso to the iron frame echoes around us.
I step forward into his sight, my black outfit blending into the shadows of the factory floor. I’m no longer Skylar, the lively porn star he thought he could control. I’m a fucking predator that he should have tried harder to avoid.
“Good morning, Franko,” I purr, the coldness in my voice cutting through the damp, ruined air. I slide my hand to my pendant, my fingers brushing the smooth, familiar metal.
Franko blinks frantically, his gaze darting around us as he takes in the abandoned factory. Shattered glass, rusty metal, and broken machinery. He’s a smart enough guy. I’m sure he recognizes his graveyard. When his eyes finally lock onto me, a flicker of desperate rage crosses his features.
“Skylar, do you really think you can get away with this?” he wheezes, his voice rough from the sedatives and poisons pumping through his system. “My guards will check the feeds. They’ll recognize your face. You’re a fucking dead man.” He laughs.
My lips twitch, amused.
“Your men are currently staring at a looped security feed of an empty penthouse elevator,” a rough, low rumble vibrates from the darkness behind me.
Jericho steps from the shadows, his massive frame completely eclipsing the light.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscle of his forearms, his striking blue eyes fixed on Franko with a chilling, detached focus.
He isn’t showing off his gun or pulling out his knife.
He doesn’t need to. His mere presence in this room is like a death sentence.
Franko flinches, looking wide-eyed and startled. “What the fuck do you want? Money? I can get you anything. Just name a price.”
I take a slow, deliberate step closer, leaning down until my face is inches from his.
The faint, fading bruise at my temple throbs, a reminder of our time together at the auction.
But that’s not why he’s here today. I make a show of putting on my latex gloves, letting them snap loudly, like they do in the movies.
“You think I can’t afford my own luxuries?” I whisper, my voice dropping into a dangerous, breathless register that makes the billionaire’s breath hitch. “You think we brought you here because of money? This has nothing to do with your bank account.”
I reach out, my fingers gripping his chin, and forcing him to look directly into my eyes.
“Look, Skylar, is this about your sister? Because it’s sad she took her own life, but I—”
He doesn’t even see the punch coming. One moment he’s talking, and the next his head is slamming into the dirty brick wall behind him. I give him a moment, since he looks a little dazed. Then, I laugh. It’s a terrifying, manic laugh that causes him to lean forward and finally listen.
“I know exactly what you did to my sister. Damn, you’re really one stupid motherfucker, aren’t you, Franko?” I pull out my hidden blade and trace his cheek with it until blood drips onto the floor below him. It’s a shallow cut, but it has him squealing like a damn pig.
“You know, it’s the same ol’ dance between you and all your buddies. Deny. Deny. Deny.” I tsk, pushing my finger against the cut on his face and causing him to thrash. “Really, it’s such a shame you never caught onto the fact that I’ve been taking them out one at a time.”
“You want to hear the fun part?” I ask, not waiting for a reply. “Every single one of them gave you up right before I tortured them. Even your dear assistant, Lenny.”
Jericho takes that moment to step forward. “Here you go, love.” He hands me a fresh white flower, giving Franko a meaningful look. I swear, my cock jumps at the display. He’s doing this to rile Franko up. He wants Franko scared, and so do I.
Franko’s eyes widen as the realization finally clicks into place behind his frantic gaze. The color drains from his face, leaving him looking frail, old, and utterly pathetic. “You’re… you’re… the killer from the news,” he gasps.
Jericho chuckles, “Oh, look, he does have a brain. Yes, asshole. Our dear Skylar here is the White Amethyst Killer.”
I circle around Franko, slowly dragging the flower across his skin in a haunting caress.
I reach for my pendant, excited to see my poison slowly eating Franko from the inside out.
“Hold on, Minx. Don’t you want to see your gift?” Jericho asks, reaching for my hand and tugging me to the left. “Sienna told me a fun little fact about her piece of shit ex.”
I glance over my shoulder and give Franko a wink. “Is that so? Tell me.”
Franko thrashes in his binds. “That bitch. I’ll fucking kill her.”
I laugh loudly. “Franko, you’ll be dead in less than an hour. I’d honestly stop making promises you can’t keep.” Turning back toward my handsome brute, I give him my full attention.
“She said he’s afraid of drowning.” He walks over to a large circular container of sorts and pulls the dark cloth that’s kept it hidden from my view. It blended in so well with the shadows that I didn’t even realize it was there.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, but I already know. I just want Franko to hear him say it out loud.
“Aw, minx. Don’t you like your surprise?
I got you a hot tub!” With a flick of a switch, a floodlight illuminates, casting a warm, spotlight-like glow on the hot tub.
Unlike any hot tub I’ve seen before, there’s a large glass window on the side displaying a nice view of the clear water inside.
Floating in the water are white flower petals, and I realize they’re white amethyst petals.
My dick grows painfully hard as I study the man I’m falling in love with. “Franko is afraid of drowning,” I say with awe. “And you bought me a fucking hot tub!”
“No... please,” Franko begs, his voice breaking into a whimpering sob as he thrashes against the heavy chains, the steel chair scraping violently against the concrete floor. “Please, I’ll give you anything. My studio? You want it. It’s yours. My money. My houses. I’ll disappear!”
I don’t answer him. My focus is solely on Jericho and that sexy-as-fuck gleam in his eyes.
The brute is standing perfectly still. His blue gaze is locked onto mine. Something primal and dark passes between us. He steps forward, his large, intimidating body a grounding, possessive anchor that is now a symbol of safety and trust.
“Skylar,” Jericho rumbles softly, his grip tightening in a silent promise of protection. He hands me a key and points to the padlock on the hot tub cover. “The lid is plenty heavy. Plus, it’s electronic, and one person shouldn’t be able to move it themselves,” he explains.
Franko is screaming hysterically now, blood still dripping from his face.
I turn back to the chair, a slow, wicked smile pulling at my lips. “Let’s see if you really are afraid of water. Goodbye, Franko.”