Page 11 of Balthazar's Fire
“Wait, what?” the stranger’s brow creased as Draco lifted the gun from his chest.
Balthazar watched his brother bring the weapon down hard against the bald guy’s temple, sending their foe crashing to his knees and ultimately the same hard floor that would see both him, and his chum, out for the count for the foreseeable future.
Chapter Four
Cherie
Stuck somewhere between her disgusted trauma at the way Monroe had maltreated her and her stark relief at his abrupt absence, Cherie sat quivering in the shadows.
How am I going to get over this? Tears fell as the question ballooned in her head. Maybe I never will. Maybe I’ll never get away…
No. She couldn’t think like that, couldn’t allow herself to sink so low, but there was little else to focus on in the dark except her desolation and despair.
Where’s Balthazar? Sniffing back her woe, she tutted at her own madness.
“He’s not coming,” she muttered, pulling against her binds for the umpteenth time. “He was never fucking coming. It’s all just bullshit I invented in my mind. For all I know, he’s still passed out on the frozen deck.”
For all I know, he’s dead.
She shuddered at the final, unvocalized thought, the tears coming harder as she tried to dismiss it.
“He’s not dead,” she declared for the dust and spiders to hear. He can’t be.
“… she’s down here.”
Cherie stiffened at the male voice, knowing in an instant that it wasn’t Monroe’s but unable to decide if she was reassured by the verdict.
“Why is he keeping her down here?” asked another unknown voice as their heavy tread sounded on the steps.
“I dunno,” the first answered. “I guess she’s his dirty secret.”
Repulsive laughter echoed from the staircase, the noise escalating the dread in Cherie’s belly when the men finally appeared in the doorway.
“There she is.” The smaller, chubby one with no hair grinned, revealing a set of wonky teeth. “All pretty like we were told.”
“Wh-who are you?” Cherie demanded, anger flaring despite her tears. It was awful enough that Monroe had taken her and left her there, but now he was, what—showing her off like some exhibit in a zoo? Her breathing accelerated at the humiliating idea. Oliver had no right! He had no right to do any of this.
“Who we are ain’t relevant,” answered the scrawnier of the two men as he neared. “We’re here to babysit.”
“Fuck you,” she spat, unexpectedly emboldened by their presence.
She was still bound to the same chair, still absurdly vulnerable, but as the two cretins approached, there was barely a flicker of fear in her. It was fury that rose in waves, spiraling until it threatened to take her over.
How dare Oliver do this! How dare any of them treat her this way.
“Oh.” The skinny one recoiled theatrically. No doubt he thought that he was amusing. “Not very nice! Maybe we should teach her some manners?”
“Don’t forget what he said.” The rotund one stared at him. “We can look, but we can’t touch.”
“How’s he gonna know?” The lanky one demanded, his hands rising to his hips. “There’s no cameras down here.”
“How do you know?” The other one asked, motioning into the corners of the room. “How do you know this whole conversation isn’t being recorded?”
“He won’t need cameras.” Heaving in a breath, Cherie spat the words at them. “Because I’ll bloody tell him. I’ll tell him you touched me, regardless, and he won’t be happy about that.”
Triumph soared as she noticed the glimmer of unease in the smaller one’s eyes.
“Don’t talk to us like that.” Undeterred, the scraggy one leaned closer, brows knitting as he continued. “You ain’t nothing but his latest fuck, darling. He’ll use you and lose you in no time, and he won’t know if I help myself first.”