Lie (Betrothed 8)

We parked at the curb minutes later, unafraid to be spotted by the police or other adversaries. No one drove around in a bulletproof armored vehicle in plain sight unless they were registered with a security company.

But I didn’t give a fuck.

I wanted people to see me coming. I wanted people to be afraid.

I left the guys at the truck because I usually ventured into these discussions alone. There was only one ruler, one Skull King, so I was the only one who asked for the cash. I wouldn’t be the Skull King if I sent my cronies to do it. Seeing me in the flesh always made them very cooperative.

I walked into the laundromat and took the stairs to the basement. I knew they were expecting me because I came at the same time every two weeks. Once I was at the bottom of the stairs, I was in a whole different world. It was dark, damp like we were in the sewers, and the women were against the opposite wall, as far away from the doors as they possibly could be. They were naked, but I was never tempted to look.

Slaves weren’t my thing.

Popov sat at the table in the middle of the room, smoking a cigar while his crew played a round of poker. The smoke rose to the ceiling, and they enjoyed a bottle of vodka without a mixer. Stacks of cash were on the table, the pot worth at least thirty thousand euro. When I approached, Popov rested his cigar in the black ashtray. “Look who it is…”

I glanced down at the table. “Who’s winning?”

“Petrov.” He straightened in his chair before he rose to his feet. “But we think he cheats.”

Petrov shook his head before he threw his cards on the table. “Don’t cheat. Just know how to play.” His hand was strong, two pair, and it made him win that round.

Popov was on his feet, and he faced me with his arms across his chest. “Wanna pull up a chair?”

It was hard to believe, but I wasn’t a gambling man. “I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

“Oh, I know.” He grabbed his cigar out of the ashtray and puffed on the wet tip. “You’re the only man I know who turns down a free fuck.” When he released the smoke from his mouth, he blew it right in my face as it rose to the ceiling.

Rape didn’t turn me on. “Get my money.”

Sometimes he looked like he wanted to resist me when that unsettling look came onto his face, but he never did. He stepped away to retrieve the cash.

Then I heard a voice I’d recognize anywhere.

“Heath…?” It was a quiet voice, afraid to be loud. It possessed so much trepidation that it seemed to belong to a person I didn’t know, like saying my name was the equivalent of risking her life. But the sound of her voice was so ingrained in my brain that I could recognize it even if it wasn’t quite the same.

I turned at the sound, looking through the bars to the first cage on the left. My eyes narrowed as I looked at the brunette on the floor against the wall, her face so bruised it was almost unrecognizable. Her arms were across her body to hide her nakedness, and she looked so scared that her energy was totally different. She wasn’t the strong, spontaneous woman who wielded an iron fist, who had the spine most leaders lacked. It took me at least ten seconds to understand what I was looking at.

When she got a better look at me, she disregarded her nakedness and came to the bars. “Heath…” Her voice broke just saying my name, tears flooding her voice, making a crack like a stick cleanly snapped in two. “Please get me out of here…please. Help me. Don’t leave me in here.” She turned hysterical, yanking on the metal bars and making them shake. She wanted to break through them and escape. “Please…”

Her face was so bruised and swollen, she didn’t look like herself. The green color of her eyes was almost nonexistent because her eyes were nearly swollen shut. The bruising all over her face indicated a man had beaten the shit out of her, slammed his fist into her face so many times that her features were destroyed. Her spirit was broken because she had no pride.

It was the first time in my life I was too disturbed to react, to pull myself together and move forward.

Popov returned and dropped a bag of money on the floor. “There you go.”

When Catalina immediately stepped back from the bars as he came close, that told me he was her tormentor. Her arms moved across her chest and hid her breasts from view as she continued to sob uncontrollably.

I turned him. “Open the door.”