Stolen: Dante’s Vow by Natasha Knight
Mara
Iride in one SUV with Jericho while his daughter, mother and a soldier follow in the one behind ours.
The hilt of the blade feels cool and smooth against my thigh, the strap holding it in place tight. The dress itself has a slit up the center which should allow me to reach it easily when it’s time.
I think about what I’ll do when I see him. When I’ll do it. I’ll have one chance and as soon as it presents itself, I will take it. If I don’t succeed and Jericho is wrong about Dante, I’m dead. But I’d rather be dead than a slave to another Petrov again.
Once we’re in the city, traffic grows denser, and I can see Jericho constantly checking on the other SUV in the side mirror.
“Why didn’t you ride with them?” I ask.
He shifts his gaze to me. “Everything has to be done in the right order.”
About ten minutes later, we slow down in front of a strip club that looks seedy enough to be exactly Felix’s style. My heartbeat picks up and a cold sweat covers me. I lay my hand over the dagger and instantly feel Jericho’s on top of it.
“Not too fast,” he says, holding it in place when I try to pull away. “You have to find the right moment, or you’ll lose. You’ll get one shot at this. Do you understand?”
I take a deep breath in and nod.
“Good.” The SUV carrying his daughter pulls in behind ours but parks at a distance. “Here we go,” he says and opens his door to climb out. I count four men in the third SUV who flank him as he comes to my side and opens my door. Again, he lets me climb out on my own rather than manhandling me. The skirt of the dress is loose enough that Felix won’t see the outline of the dagger, but I wish I weren’t wearing such high heels in case I need to run.
One of Felix’s men is standing outside smoking a cigarette. Although I don’t recognize him specifically, they have a certain look about them. Like thugs. He looks me over and as soon as he does, instinct has me spinning on my heel. Jericho’s hand closes over my arm as Felix’s soldier tosses what’s left of his cigarette and comes toward us.
“Not yet,” Jericho tells him.
The man looks annoyed but accepts this and opens the door.
As soon as we’re inside, I see him. Even across a bar full of people and women on a stage dancing, music too loud to be heard over, I see him.
I stop, an old, familiar panic locking my legs.
Jericho turns to me, takes my arm. “Breathe.”
I’m scared. Fuck. I’m scared. It’s like all those feelings from before, all that terror, it was just waiting, lying dormant and now that he’s close again, it’s all back and it’s paralyzing me.
Jericho leans toward me. “Breathe, Mara.”
“I’m scared,” I confess, my eyes locked on Felix, his grin making me shudder even as sweat beads on my forehead and pools under my arms.
“Fear is healthy. Look at me.” I don’t. He takes my jaw and turns my face to his. “Look at me, not him.”
I nod.
“Don’t think about what he did to you. Only remember your hate for him. Let that be your power. He’ll be dead tonight. You’ll be alive. Just keep your focus and remember your hate.” He subtly touches my thigh where the dagger feels like it’s burning into my skin. “You’re not a victim anymore.”
I nod.
“Good girl.” He keeps his hand wrapped around my arm and we cross the room toward Felix Pérez. I somehow manage to do it on my own two feet.
Felix stands when we’re a few feet away and looks me over, nods.
“Where is it?” Jericho asks.
Felix seems barely able to drag his gaze from mine as he reaches into his pocket, takes something out and hands it to Jericho.
Jericho takes it and one of his men lifts a laptop out of the case he was carrying. He opens it, sets it on a high-top table and Jericho inserts the drive. He pushes a pair of earbuds into his ears, and I watch him as Felix leers at me. He never looked at me like this before, not when I was a child. I guess I should be thankful for that but he’s just a different sort of pervert. I know that.
“You’re all grown up,” he says to me, but I don’t acknowledge him. It turns my stomach to hear his voice. It’ll take some doing to look at him.
I can’t see the screen over Jericho’s shoulders but a few moments later, he pulls the earbuds out, nods and pockets the flash drive. Felix turns his attention to him.
“What you wanted to hear?”
“Not exactly. Our business is finished. Make sure I never see you again,” he tells Felix and turns to walk away. I swallow hard when his gaze meets mine briefly but a moment later, he’s gone from the club, his men with him and I’m left facing Felix Pérez alone.
The only reason I don’t run when he steps toward me is because my legs won’t obey my mind’s order. He must see my fear. My panic. Because even as I try to recall Jericho’s words, even as I remind myself of the dagger at my fingertips, I’m terrified of this man.
He takes a step toward me, and I feel one of his men at my back. His gaze slides lazily over me and for a moment I wonder if I were to scream, would anyone help me? Would anyone stop him? I don’t think so. He’d have chosen a place he feels secure.
He walks a slow circle around me stopping at my back, I close my eyes at the feel of his hot breath at my neck. At the scent of him I’d forgotten. It’s a nauseating stench because it carries memory and fear.
“Mara,” he says my name, drawing it out. “All grown up. And very, very pretty. I’m tempted to keep you for myself.”
I open my eyes, my hands fisting at my side.
“Or perhaps just have a quick taste,” he finishes. It’s when I feel his tongue slide across the curve of my neck that I steel my spine. I fix my gaze on the dirty mirror in the distance where I can see our reflection. This aging man at my back. This disgusting piece of human filth. And I think of Angelique. Of all the little girls he’s hurt. Of all the ones he’ll keep hurting.
And it’s that that has me standing taller.
Has me focusing my hate. My rage.
I have to keep it together now.
Because Jericho St. James is right. This man will die tonight. And it will be my hands that are soaked in his blood.