One grabbed Freya and covered her mouth to stop her calling out. One grabbed Arabella by her hair and dragged her across the carpet to near Freya. He pulled a roll of gaffer tape from his pocket and bound her hands and taped up her mouth. Freya had the same done to her. Then one came for me. I tried to get up and run, but he grabbed me by the waist and punched me across the face. I tasted blood, felt it trickling from my lip and down my neck.
“Bitch,” he snarled and kicked my legs from under me. I plunged to the carpeted floor, and my hands and mouth were taped too.
They lined us up beside the bed, then one of them pulled out a camera. Tears were flooding down Freya’s and Arabella’s cheeks. I wouldn’t give these men the pleasure of seeing me break. I had to keep my composure. I was pretty sure I was in shock after seeing my father and Hugo killed so brutally. And now they were here.
For me.
“Harlow cunt.” The man brought the camera closer to my face. “Your daddy and fiancé pissed off some very bad people.” I saw his balaclava shift and knew he was smiling beneath it. “They owed some money to some very powerful men.” He kneeled before me. “And they thought they were too good to pay the piper.” He nodded at one of the other men, the one standing near Freya. “And now we’re recouping their debt.”
In a flash, the man struck out and sliced the knife across Freya’s throat. I screamed, the gaffer tape stopping any noise from spilling out. Freya’s eyes widened, and she looked at me, right in the eye, as the wound cracked open and her blood poured in rivulets down her neck.
I screamed. I screamed and screamed as she fell to the ground, body twitching as she fought to hold on to life. Her eyes stayed on me as the life drained from her … until her body stopped moving, stopped fighting … stopped living.
The men laughed, and pure rage built in my chest. Arabella whispered something intelligible beside me, and I met her terrified dark eyes. They squeezed shut as more tears fell. When they opened again, her eyes turned to the man who was slowly approaching her. She didn’t struggle. My best friend watched with a hauntingly detached calmness as the man who had bound her with tape kneeled down, then pushed a long knife right through her heart.
I turned my head away as Arabella started to gurgle, and this time I felt all the fight seep from my bones. When I had mustered up some strength, I looked back at Arabella as she lay on the floor, her eyes open but her body dead, her blood pooling beneath her.
They were going to kill me. My father and Hugo fucked up somehow, and now we were all going to die because of it. Arabella and Freya were innocent. I was a Harlow. I was the one they wanted.
“Smile,” the man with the camera said, bringing the lens to my face. “Your friends are dead. Daddy and Hugo are dead. That only leaves you.” I held my breath as he pulled the knife from Arabella’s chest and wiped my friend’s blood across the top of my breasts. I waited for him to stab me too, but instead he dragged me up by my arm. “No, no death for you. We have other things planned. Really fucked-up things. Death is too easy a way out.”
He hoisted me to my feet. They were bare, my shoes long discarded, and my soles stood on the still-warm blood of Arabella and Freya. I fought back nausea as I was dragged into the corridor, trying to keep my eyes on my friends, praying they weren’t gone—but they were. I’d seen the light fade from their eyes. I searched for anyone to help, but the spa was silent. The men dragged me away from the main stairs and lifts and into the emergency exit stairwell. I was struck as I stumbled and tried to pull away. They dealt punches to my stomach, to my face and finally, to my head. My vision spun, and I felt another slap burst my lip open further.
I felt as though I’d blacked out for a while. When I came to, one of the men was speaking into a phone. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I felt dizzy, aches and pains accosting me from my side to my head. I tried to keep my composure, keep conscious. I had to escape. I had to get away from here. I needed to get help. I couldn’t let them take me.
But when we burst out of the exit and into an alleyway, I was dragged to the doors of a waiting van. Two of the men got in. One was behind me. I quickly looked at him; the knife he had used on Arabella was tucked into his waistband.