Chapter 63 - 62 Taming A Beast
EMILY
The circular muzzle of a silver revolver pressing into my forehead feels remarkably like a block of ice.
Silas Hunt breathes heavily through his open mouth. The stench of stale tobacco and rotting teeth washes over my face. His bloodshot eyes are wide and wild. He expects me to scream. He expects me to drop to my knees and beg for my life.
I intentionally lost Leo and my body guards because I knew Silas would pull something like this. The man is so predictable.
I maintain eye contact. I don’t blink.
"If you have absolutely no intention of saving your mother, go ahead and pull the trigger," I say. My voice stays perfectly level.
The sheer confusion hitting Silas is almost comical. The murderous rage contorting his sweaty face stalls completely. He blinks twice. His thick finger hesitates on the trigger.
"What...what did you just say?" Silas asks. Spit flies from his cracked lips.
"You heard me." I lift my hand. I press my index finger against the side of the cold steel barrel. "Take this away. You’re embarrassing yourself."
I push the gun aside. The metal slides against my skin. Silas offers zero resistance. He lets his arm drop slightly to his side. He looks at the heavy weapon in his hand, then looks back at me. He’s completely lost.
"You aren’t Dr. Aris’s mistress," he mutters.
"Obviously not." I smooth the front of my cotton skirt. "Our relationship is entirely professional, but it’s extraordinary. He values my expertise. I value his guidance. He respects me."
Silas squares his shoulders. The ugly sneer returns to his face. "Then you’re still useful. I can throw you in the back of my SUV right now. I’ll use you to force the old man to operate."
"You really lack basic critical thinking skills." I sigh loudly. "Think about it, Silas. Dr. Aris is a globally recognized cardiologist. He has the ear of politicians and police commissioners. You already tried holding him hostage once. What happened?"
Silas looks away. He shifts his weight off his bad left leg. The memory of his previous failure clearly stings.
"Exactly," I continue. "He refused to cooperate. He called your bluff. If you kidnap me, he won’t operate. He’ll simply call the authorities. You’ll end up in a federal prison, and your mother will die waiting for a doctor who is actually qualified to fix her heart. Don’t provoke people you can’t afford to cross."
The four thugs surrounding us exchange nervous glances. Razor, the tattooed man, shifts his weight from side to side. I did my research on Silas and everyone around him. I know who I’m up against and his allies.
Silas grips his silver revolver tight. His knuckles turn stark white. He knows I’m right.
"Fine," Silas grinds his teeth together. "You sound confident that you can help me. What are your terms?"
"Simple." I hold up one finger. "You leave Aunt Cherry and her daughter completely alone. You never step foot in that pizza shop again." I raise a second finger. "And you stop using your thugs to violently abduct young women just because your family pressures you to settle down."
Silas scowls. He kicks a loose pebble on the concrete. "My grandmother is dying. She wants to see me married. I was just in a rush."
"Being in a rush doesn’t justify assault and kidnapping." I drop my hand. "Do we have a deal?"
He stares at me for a long ten seconds. The intense heat radiates from the pavement, baking the empty space between us. Finally, he gives a single, sharp nod.
"Deal," he spits out.
I pull a small notepad and a pen from my purse. I quickly scribble down my phone number. I tear the sheet off and hold it out.
Silas snatches the paper from my fingers.
"Send your mother’s complete medical files to that number," I instruct him. "I’ll personally forward them to Dr. Aris and ensure he reviews her case. Don’t contact his clinic directly again."
I turn around and walk toward the corner of the building. Before I round the edge of the glass facade, I glance over my shoulder.
Silas stares at the piece of paper in his hand. A bizarre, crooked smile stretches across his face.
"Interesting," I hear him mutter over the idle rumble of his SUV. "Very interesting."
Razor steps forward and opens his mouth to speak. Silas backhands him across the chest. The heavy smack echoes across the courtyard. Razor stumbles backward and clutches his ribs in pain.
"Thomas Vance is a monumental idiot," Silas says loud enough for me to hear. "He’s going to deeply regret throwing that girl away."
I turn the corner. The massive shadow of the Etland Building shields me from the blazing sun. I let out a long breath. My knees feel slightly weak, but I keep my pace steady. I circle around the perimeter toward the East Gate.
Leo paces the sidewalk near the entrance. The moment he spots me, he breaks into a fast sprint. His dark suit jacket flaps in the wind. He stops two feet away from me. His chest heaves slightly.
"Are you injured?" Leo asks. His dark eyes scan my face, my arms, my hands. "I lost visual contact when you rounded the South Gate. I was thirty seconds away from mobilizing the tactical unit."
"I’m completely fine, Leo." I offer him an apologetic smile. "I’m sorry for causing you unnecessary stress. The negotiation just required a little privacy."
Leo doesn’t smile back. He opens the rear door of the armored sedan waiting at the curb. "Please get inside, Ma’am. We need to return to the manor."
I slide into the plush leather seat. The cool air conditioning washes over my overheated skin. Leo gets into the driver’s seat and pulls away from the curb. The heavy doors lock automatically.
My phone vibrates inside my purse. I pull it out. The caller ID displays Aunt Cherry’s name. I swipe the screen and press the phone to my ear.
"Emily," Aunt Cherry says. Her voice shakes. Background noise clatters behind her, sounding like stacked chairs. "Are you safe? Did that horrible man find you?"
"I’m perfectly safe, Aunt Cherry." I lean my head against the cool tinted window. "I just finished speaking with Silas Hunt. He’ll never bother you or your daughter again."
A sharp intake of breath sounds through the speaker. "Are you telling the truth? How did you manage that?"
"I leveraged a medical contact he desperately needs." I smile at the passing cityscape. "The matter is officially resolved. You don’t need to hide anymore. You can reopen the pizza shop tomorrow."
"Oh, thank goodness." Aunt Cherry sniffles. She is clearly crying. "Emily, you’re an absolute angel. I owe you my life."
"You owe me a bacon pizza," I correct her. "Open the shop and treat everyone. Celebrate your freedom."
She laughs through her tears. "I’ll make the biggest pizza in Asuir. Just for you."
I hang up the phone. A deep sense of satisfaction settles firmly in my chest. I helped someone. I used my mind instead of relying on Alistair Wolfe’s money or muscle. I’m building my own strength.
The drive back to the manor is quiet. The massive iron gates swing open to let us inside the sprawling estate. Leo parks the car near the side entrance.
"Thank you, Leo," I say as I step out.
I walk straight to the cellar armory. I need to burn off the residual adrenaline pumping through my veins. The confrontation with Silas proved I still need to be faster. I need better reflexes.
The armory is cool and smells faintly of gun oil and cold steel. The fluorescent lights overhead are bright and unforgiving.
I pick up the heavy, black training pistol. It is an exact replica of the Nightblade, matching the weight and balance perfectly. I stand in front of the target dummy. I practice drawing the weapon from a concealed holster. Over and over again.
Draw. Aim. Fire. Reholster.
Draw. Aim. Fire. Reholster.
The repetitive motion becomes a trance. I lose track of time. The rough grip of the training pistol grinds against my bare palms. I don’t stop. I push through the friction. I push through the sweat dripping down my back. I need the muscle memory to become permanent. If someone pulls a gun on me again, I need to react faster than they can blink.
I train for two unbroken hours.
My arms finally turn to lead. I drop the training pistol onto the metal workbench. The heavy thud echoes in the silent room. I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist.
I head upstairs to my bedroom. The quiet luxury of the manor feels completely disconnected from the violence of the armory. I walk into the massive, marble-tiled bathroom attached to the master suite.
I turn on the gold-plated faucet. The warm water rushes into the porcelain sink.
I push my hands under the stream.
A sharp, stinging pain bites into my palms. I hiss through my teeth and yank my hands back.
I hold my hands up to the mirror light. The skin across both palms is completely raw. The abrasive grip of the training pistol rubbed away the top layers of skin. Several deep, red abrasions cross my fingers. A few blisters have already popped, leaving sensitive tissue exposed to the air. The throbbing ache pulses in time with my heartbeat.
I grab a plush white towel. I dab at the moisture carefully, wincing at every point of contact.
"What did you do?"
The deep, authoritative voice startles me. I jump slightly.
Alistair Wolfe stands in the bathroom doorway. He wears a dark charcoal suit. His tie is loosened. His collar is unbuttoned. The sharp lines of his face are set in a rigid expression. He moves with silent, predatory grace. I didn’t even hear him enter the bedroom.
"I was just washing up," I say. I quickly lower my hands to my sides. I try to hide the raw, red skin against the fabric of my skirt.
Alistair steps into the bathroom. The space suddenly feels incredibly small. He smells like expensive cologne and fresh rain. He doesn’t ask a second question. He reaches out.
His large, warm hands close around my wrists.
He pulls my arms forward gently but with absolute, undeniable force. I can’t resist his grip. He turns my palms upward into the bright vanity lighting.
He stares at the torn skin. He traces the edge of a popped blister with his eyes. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
His jaw muscles flex. He runs his thumb lightly over my wrist pulse point.
"You destroyed your hands," he says. His tone is completely flat, but a dangerous intensity radiates from him. "Explain this. Now."