She was barely standing, hunched over with a hand on the counter, and he watched as she slowly reached over to grab the bottle of wine, her hand shaking violently.
You can do this,
he told her silently, concerned that Carlo might know some Spanish.
I will help you.
The dark red wine sloshed inside the waiting glass and beneath the hand on the counter, her thumb moved, untwisting the cap on the vial. The moment she seemed ready, Ethan turned to Gio.
“You’re going to regret that,” Ethan said in Italian.
There was a whoosh as Carlo’s wand came down and slapped against the flesh and bone of Ethan’s knee.
“Motherfucker,” he swore, this time in English. Holy mother of God, that hurt. The muscles in his jaw ached as he clenched his teeth together, trying to stay above the pain and focus on Olivia. Her face was blank. Numb with pain, or . . . pretending to be. For once, it was impossible to know what was a lie and what was real.
Olivia shuffled along, keeping her head up as she went past him and extended the glass out to Gio, and her face changed to a dark look.
“Salute.”
She’d said it with so much contempt, it was like she’d only just stopped herself from saying another word.
To your health, cocksucker.
Ethan had no idea how much of the vial she’d just dosed Gio with, but as the wine disappeared behind Gio’s lips, Ethan hoped it was the whole goddamn bottle. If so, Gio’s body would progressively slow down until his heart went too long between beats and his brain starved of oxygen. Olivia would get her suffocation of Gio after all.
And Ethan was plenty okay with that this time.
“I believe I told you to take off your clothes,” Gio commanded.
The hatred in her eyes dwindled and a cold, hard look replaced it. “If I don’t?”
“They’ll come off no matter what. What Carlo will do to Nathan if you refuse, it won’t be enjoyable to watch.”
Her hands moved slowly, undoing the rest of the buttons on her blouse. It was silent in the room other than her rapid breathing and the voice in Ethan’s head, the one screaming at her not to do this. She finished with the shirt, leaving it open on her shoulders so her pink bra peeked out.
No.
Trembling hands went to her pants. The zipper was quiet as she tugged it down.
Please, don’t
.
“Faster,” Gio ordered.
The pants fell down, exposing her gorgeous curves decorated with all that pink lace. All three men in the room inhaled sharply, although Ethan’s was in horror and not lust. Purple-red raised lines tattooed her legs. Welts from the rod she’d been beaten with.
“Not boring. A woman after all,” Gio said appreciatively. He leered over every exposed inch of flesh, and rage threatened to pull Ethan apart.
“Before we go further,” she said, her voice unnervingly calm, “may I have another glass of wine?”
Gio motioned to the bar,
“Go ahead.”
Every action was slow and methodical as she padded back to it. The open white shirt couldn’t be shed with the handcuffs on. So when she reached the bar, Carlo ordered her to stand still. His knife sawed through the shirt fabric, cutting it away from her shuddering body.
“What happened to your back?” Gio said.
Her words were tight. “I was in an accident.”
He made his “tsk, tsk” noise. “You should have had cosmetics done. It looks awful.”
Despite what she’d gone through, she managed to smirk. “The procedure’s expensive. Why do you think I took that terrible job of working for you?”
The realization hit Ethan softer than the rod had, but not by much. She was so disgusted with her wounds, she’d taken the shady job to save up for treatments. She wanted the physical reminder of that dark night gone.
Gio’s comment about her back seemed to have stoked the fire in her and brought her back on her game, even though she was almost naked in a room full of men. She stopped shaking, her posture confident again. She poured the glass of wine, took a sip, and her eyes narrowed on Gio.
Ethan’s shirt was already drenched with blood and he could feel it rolling down his spine. He began to consider different scenarios for how best to escape, and they all depended on her doing the bulk of the work.
Behind him, the office door banged open and Vitale stormed in, turning to Ethan with a sneer. “Who do you work for? CIA?”
“No, Vitale, I work for you.”
Vitale’s posture snapped straight with rage. “Tell me what they know, and we can get this over with quickly. It doesn’t have to be too unpleasant.”
Things were already way past unpleasant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do you want this woman to die?” Vitale took in the sight of her, all bruises and lingerie, but she stood strong under his scrutiny. Defiant. “Is she willing to die for you?”
It won’t come to that. He wouldn’t allow himself to even consider that possibility. “She doesn’t know anything.”
“We’ll see. Carlo, what do you suggest?”
“The feet are the most painful.”
“Then we do the feet. I don’t want this to take all night.”
Carlo grabbed Olivia under the arm and began to drag her to the desk, but she struggled.
“Wait.” It was out of Ethan’s mouth without thought. “Why did you attack the hangar this morning?”
Vitale looked dumbfounded, like he was considering explaining to Ethan how interrogation worked and who was responsible for asking the questions.
“Because the Hayward woman could tie Constantine to Juric,” Gio answered, swaying slightly. “They all had to go.”
Vitale threw a displeased look at his son. The drug was starting to get to Gio and gave him loose lips. He was weak and the time to distract Vitale was now, while Gio was still conscious.
“Just like Renzo,” Ethan said, “when he wanted half of the deal you’re working with Amin, right?”
Vitale’s jaw fell open. “Giovanni, what is he talking about?”
“Is . . . lies.” The empty wine glass slipped from Gio’s hand and thudded to the rug beneath his feet.
“Are you all right?” Carlo asked.
The couch jostled when Gio collapsed on it, and the shifting made Ethan groan. It was hitting Gio fast now. The other men didn’t notice Olivia drifting closer, focusing on Ethan. Oh, she had some sort of plan, and he was grateful. At this point they needed to try anything. He was desperate to avoid what was rapidly becoming unavoidable.
Gio spoke, his words too slurred to understand, reaching out for Olivia as he tumbled face-first off the couch.
“What’s happening to him?” she asked. She bent and made a production out of trying to help him up, but it was to help herself to Gio’s knife.
“Get back,” Carlo ordered.
She had a hard time getting the blade to flip open, and worry twisted Ethan’s stomach that she wasn’t going to make it in time. Carlo, unaware of her possession of the knife, was almost on top of her when the blade sprang up from the handle. The Italian wrapped a hand around her arm and yanked her away from Gio’s unconscious body, only to have her turn and sink the knife into his right bicep, all the way in to the hilt. The black wand bounced to the rug and she kicked it away as he lunged for it with his left foot, screaming in pain.
They had to hurry. That scream was going to bring more men in here. As quickly as she’d stabbed Carlo, she’d pulled the knife back, and the blood that shot out of his arm covered her hand. The screaming man was then put on the floor with her unwounded knee straight to his groin. Vitale stepped away, stunned. As Ethan suspected, he didn’t draw a gun, probably because he didn’t have one.
“Stay back,” she yelled at Vitale, swinging the knife at him, her hand covered in blood.
“Cut me free,” Ethan commanded, urgent. The taut cord vibrated as she sawed through it. She tried to slice through the plastic ties that held his hands together next—
Shit!
Carlo was up on his feet. Ethan grabbed her arm and twisted, throwing her away from the attack, and the pain was so intense in his back that his vision went black.
“Look out!” she shouted.
He put Carlo down, kneeling on the man’s windpipe until there was a horrible gurgling sound. He glared at the man pinned beneath him, then back to her, the knife still clutched in her hand and pointed at Vitale.
“Help us get out of here and I can get you immunity,” Ethan said in English to Carlo.
“What?”
It came from her teeming with betrayal. It’s not like this offer sat particularly easy with him either. He wasn’t sure if the image of her bruised legs would ever fade from his memory, but this was big-picture. Revenge wouldn’t matter if they were both dead.
The doors to the office banged into the walls on either side as two of Vitale’s men came in brandishing guns. One of them snatched Olivia up and threw her hard against the desk, a 9mm pressing her head down until her cheek was flush against the desktop.
She closed her eyes, like this was the end.
If that man pulled the trigger, Ethan was sure they would both die from that bullet.
-23-
Olivia never wanted to hear Italian again, and now it poured into her ears, all around her, inescapable. Closing her eyes only exacerbated it, so she opened them and watched the other gunman drag Ethan back to the couch. He’d stopped resisting with the gun on her.
What was he doing here? She was torn in two at the sight of Ethan. He’d walked right into his death, and for what? Her? She was pissed and overjoyed that he’d come.
There was discussion with Carlo about Gio, and once Carlo retrieved his black rod from where she’d kicked it, the cold, hard barrel against her temple eased up. Carlo’s heavy footsteps approached and he said something to Vitale.
“Look at me,” Ethan said to her, his face white, and seeing him like that . . . she couldn’t imagine anything worse. “It’s okay,” he said. “Help is coming, just hold on.”
“Help is not coming for you,” Carlo choked out. She stayed down, bent over the desk, her bare stomach cold against the lacquered wood as he stood to the side of her. “Tell us what you’ve done to Giovanni.”
“I didn’t do anything to him,” she said. “I was sitting on the desk—”
“Wait, Jesus.
Per favore,”
Ethan pleaded with the men.
Carlo’s hand closed around the links of her metal handcuffs and he moved to the far end of the desk, stretching her arms out, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when the rod was passed to Vitale like a scepter. Carlo probably couldn’t do it because he clutched a bloody hand to where she’d stabbed him in the arm. The other two men had their guns aimed at Ethan, and their attention on their boss.
Vitale teased her. Oh so slowly, he began dragging the thin pole over the skin of her forearms. It rose up behind his head, and then came thundering down with a magnificent crash. It landed against the desk, just shy of her arms, shaking the desktop and it almost rattled her apart.
“Tell us what you did to Giovanni.”
“I drugged him,” Ethan said. The other people turned to glance at the intense man bleeding all over the couch.
Couldn’t Ethan see that lie was pointless? He’d been tied up and she’d been the one to bring Gio the wine. The look in Vitale’s eye said he didn’t care who had done it. Both were going to suffer and then die. Vitale reared back with the rod. An elegant Italian man in a perfectly tailored suit, about to destroy her. He was serious now. He was going to hit her.
Oh God, oh God, oh God—
“No!” Ethan’s voice rang out, filled with panicked agony.
The impact sounded different and was joined with a horrifying crunch of bone, and it took a lifetime for her body to register the pain. She blinked at least once in disbelief before it thundered into her brain and overtook her. He’d severed her right hand, she was sure of it, even though she looked at her wrist and saw the hand still attached. She couldn’t feel anything beyond the rapidly swelling line on her forearm near her wrist.
She screamed, letting loose a tremendous cry that didn’t sound human, and her eyes slammed shut. Then the nausea came in a wave she was almost powerless against, and she swallowed back a mouthful of burning bile. Lying on the desktop, her arms still held out in front of her, she began to worry that maybe Vitale had succeeded. She would give or say almost anything to be somewhere else now, even on that mountain where she’d been so alone.
Yet she wasn’t alone here. She could still see Ethan with her eyes closed, and now she could hear him speaking to her, over her cries.
“It’s okay, Olivia, they’re coming. Please hold on.” His soft voice was distracting. Mesmerizing. “You’re going to make it through.”
Her eyes blinked open, and through the blurring, unavoidable tears she could just make him out. Not lying. This was truth.
“I’m here, and they’re coming, I promise you.” The deep voice held her present, kept her going. “Rescue is coming. It’s coming.”
It was what she’d repeated over and over on the mountain after the grenade had exploded and she was lying face down in the frozen dirt, her back on fire.
Rescue is coming.