Chapter 2 - THE PRICE OF MARITAL DEBT
The bullet shattered the plaster four inches above Julian’s ear.
Julian flinched, dropping the tire iron with a clatter that echoed down the stairwell.
He didn't fire his pistol.
He couldn't.
Two laser dots, bright and crimson, pinned his chest.
From the shadows of the fire stairs, Leo Vance—Rhett’s chief of security—emerged with a suppressed carbine raised to his shoulder.
Beside him stood four heavily armed men in sterile black tactical vests.
Julian slowly raised his hands.
The suppressed pistol hung limp from his index finger.
"You brought a strike team to a public tenement, Rhett?" Julian rasped, sweat beading across his forehead.
"The city police—"
"The city police don't patrol this ward between eight and ten in the morning," Rhett said calmly.
"You know that, Julian."
"You paid the precinct captain fifty thousand dollars to ignore this block last night."
Rhett reached out.
With one effortless, fluid motion, he snatched the pistol from Julian’s fingers.
He dropped the magazine, racked the slide to clear the live round, and tossed the empty weapon onto the floor.
He stepped closer until his chest pressed against Julian’s.
"Take off the coat."
Julian swallowed hard.
"What?"
"The camel-hair coat," Rhett ordered softly.
"It has blood on the cuffs."
"Isa’s blood."
"Take it off."
Julian unbuttoned his coat with trembling fingers.
He slipped it off his shoulders and let it drop onto the dirty linoleum.
Beneath it, he wore a tailored gray suit, his silk tie crooked.
Rhett looked at Leo Vance.
"Take him to the warehouse on Pier 22."
"No cell phones."
"No visitors."
"If he speaks before I arrive, remove his tongue."
"Rhett! You can't do this!" Julian yelled as two tactical operators seized his arms, driving him to his knees with zip-ties.
"The Council meets at six tonight!"
"My father sits on the tribunal!"
Rhett turned his back on Julian completely.
He walked back into my tiny, trashed apartment.
He knelt beside me on the floor, completely ignoring the dirt and the dark red stains seeping into his trousers.
He picked me up into his arms.
His touch was surprisingly gentle, supporting my broken left arm against his chest.
Pain shot through my cracked ribs, tearing a sharp, ragged gasp from my throat.
My vision swirled with dark spots.
"Hold on to my neck, Isa," he commanded softly.
I reached out with my uninjured right arm.
My fingers curled into the collar of his blood-stained shirt.
He carried me out of the apartment, stepping over the scattered kitchen debris.
As we crossed the threshold, Julian was being dragged toward the fire exit by Leo’s men.
Julian looked at me.
His face was contorted with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You're dead, Isa!" Julian shrieked, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
"You think he's protecting you?!"
"He was the one who signed the contract with my father!"
"He's the reason you were sold in the first place!"
My body went instantly rigid in Rhett’s arms.
I looked up at Rhett’s face.
His jaw was set in stone.
His amber eyes stared straight ahead toward the elevator, completely unreadable.
He didn't deny it.
He didn't say a single word.
He carried me into the service elevator, the metal doors sliding shut against Julian’s fading curses.
Downstairs, an armored black Maybach waited in the snowy alleyway.
Dr. Chen, Rhett’s private trauma surgeon, stood beside the open rear door holding a stainless steel medical kit.
Rhett laid me across the leather seat.
He sat beside me, keeping my head resting on his thigh, his fingers lightly brushing a strand of matted hair from my forehead.
"Dr. Chen," Rhett said, his voice dropping into quiet authority.
"Broken radius on the left arm."
"At least three cracked ribs."
"Concussion."
"Fix her."
Dr. Chen immediately began slicing through my torn sweater sleeve with medical shears.
The pain was nauseating, but my mind was screaming something far worse than physical agony.
I looked up into Rhett’s dark, unyielding eyes.
"Is it true?" I whispered, my voice cracking with tears I had held back for fourteen months.
"Did you sell me to him?"
Rhett didn't look away.
His thumb traced the bruised line of my jawline.
May you like
"I didn't sell you, Isa."
"I lost you in a card game four years ago."
