Page 109 of Poisoned Pawn
“Carter…” Frankie says, a warning in his tone.
“No, Frankie. He’s fucking protecting the bastard that killed your brother,” I say, stretching my neck as the tip of my blade nicks Lennox’s chin, causing him to wince. “The same cunt that took my fucking woman!”
“I know, but this isn’t going to solve anything, Carter,” Frankie says moving further into the room.
“It’s not him I’m protecting,” Lennox admits, his eyes bore into mine, imploring me to understand.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter. You—”
“It fucking matters, Lennox. Who the fuck are you protecting?”
“He’s protecting me,” comes a female voice from behind us.
Frankie pulls his gun, pointing it at the woman now standing in the doorway. I hear Lennox curse as my eyes meet hers.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Sloane?” Frankie says disbelieving and lowering his gun.
“Hey, Frankie. It’s been a while,” she says, cautiously stepping further into the room.
Lennox pushes my hand holding the knife out of the way, and I remove my foot, allowing him to get to his feet.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he protests, striding toward her. I hear a deep growl come from Frankie as they hug.
“It was time. I can’t hide anymore.”
“Somebody want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?” I shout, looking between them all.
“Carter, I’m Sloane Thatcher.” My head whips to Frankie at hearing his last name as he stands with his hands on his hips and looking murderous. “But I used to be Sloane Matthews. I’m Rook’s mother.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
STAR
“Maddox! Oh my god, Maddox!” I yell as he falls to the floor. Carter screams my name as hair is ripped from my head as I struggle against the guy’s hold on me.
“Shut the fuck up before I finish him off,” Rook threatens before turning back to call something out to Carter as the arsehole behind me drags me away.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, tears running freely down my face. I’m forced down a corridor and outside where my hands are tied behind my back before I’m shoved into the back of a car.
Rook joins me, and I scramble across the seat away from him. I twist and turn until I’m in an almost sitting position, my head resting against the window. My chest aches. Silent tears continue to fall.
Rook looks over to me, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He turns slightly to face me.
“I enjoyed that. But I think I might just enjoy you a little more,” he whispers, his hand reaching out and trailing a path up my leg.
Every muscle in my body tenses at his touch, and I draw my leg up out of his reach. But he’s quicker, snatching my ankle with a sneer.
“No need to fret. What I have planned for you requires a much larger space than the inside of this car. I have something special planned for you, Anastasia.” His grip on my ankle tightens for a second before he releases me, tugging at the sleeve of his suit jacket.
I bunch myself up as small as possible into the corner. Everything in me is fighting not to vomit. It’s a battle I don’t think I can win if he continues to call me Anastasia.
While my body fights its own battle, my mind attempts to focus on where we are going and anything that might help later. I watch through the front windscreen as we head through town, passing the Trafford Centre and into Irlam. This is where the meet is meant to go down tonight. I don’t know this area at all, except that it’s 51 Squad territory, so I try to pick out memorable places.
The car slows and we turn into a large driveway. The house in front is huge, more like a hotel. A sign covered by overgrown hedges claims it’s the old rectory house. A shiver runs up my spine at the irony.