From here it looked quaint and picturesque, with lights glowing warmly from rounded sash windows, and trees swaying in the night-time breeze.

The vehicle came to a stop outside the entrance. Someone wrenched open my car door; leaning in, he cuffed me around the back of the head. Fuck me, I ached. My entire body was bruised, hurting even worse than the gunshot in my thigh.

“Get out, Mercer.”

I hadn’t been cuffed since I was a f**king six years old. I wasn’t about to take it when I was almost thirty.

I couldn’t stop the cold smile stretching my lips.

Grave mistake. Huge mistake.

We were in a completely different country to Tess. My honour didn’t cross borders—I’d kept my vow to go to Spain willingly. But we’d arrived and all promises were over.

Elegantly—or as much as I could with a beat up body—I stepped from the car. The guard moved away, grinning at my obedience. I grinned back. Another man grinned. Fuck, we all grinned at each other.

Fucking pricks.

I struck.

With my bound wrists, it didn’t give me the leverage I wanted, but I managed to splay my hands on either side of his skull and tear. I jerked fast and hard as if I uprooted a tree from dirt. And in a way—that was precisely what I did.

The snap of his neck echoed in the night sky before his body fell like a useless piece of timber.

“What!” The man who was in charge stomped forward, hands raised. “You f**king—”

I propelled both arms forward, forming one giant fist. The strike caught his chin perfectly, propelling him upright, sending him slamming onto his back.

I stood over him, ignoring my bruises, cut lip, and swollen eye, and invoked more anger to flow. It was the best painkiller—it would keep me free from agony until I had the luxury of relaxing.

“Don’t ever think you can touch me without paying. It comes with a price and you can’t afford it, you f**king scum.” I spat on him, kicking dirt over his groaning body. And I want everyone to know.

I knew I’d been stalked. I’d taken precautions but not enough. Deliberately. “Touch me again and I’ll send you straight to hell.”

A strike landed on the base of my skull. I stumbled forward, cursing the rush of sickness and pounding headache. At least I didn’t have a migraine. A migraine only came when I tried to rein in the evilness inside.

Tonight I was free. I’d let my humanity go the moment I said goodbye to Tess.

My muscles seized as a gun bruised my spine. “Move, cocksucker.” Someone shoved me forward, giving me no choice but to limp ahead with my vision sputtering in and out from the blow to my skull.

The house loomed. I knew without a doubt if I went in there I wouldn’t be coming out. But there was no other option.

Trust them. Franco knows what to do. Franco had a to-do list and he would get it done.

My wrists rubbed together, searching for the hard node beneath my skin. It’d hurt like a motherfucker having it inserted. A small tracking device fully equipped with GPS, different frequencies, and indefinite lifecycle. I’d had the same doctor who’d tended to Tess insert it the morning I got her home.

At the time, I thought I’d gone overboard with precaution, but now I thanked my foresight. This would’ve happened regardless—I’d pissed off too many people to think I wouldn’t suffer. But I would use it to my advantage. I intended to make an example of them. Slaughter their entire business—send a message to the remaining cocksuckers out there that I wasn’t weak. That I wouldn’t be killed easily. Lynx would be my announcement to anyone stupid enough to come for me. They would know exactly what I would do to trespassers.

I just had to stay alive long enough for back-up to arrive.

The ass**le wielding the gun in my spine pushed hard.

I snapped.

Splaying my legs for balance, I spun around, slapping the gun away. The heavy weapon clattered to the driveway.

The guy’s nostrils flared as he bent to pick it up.

Kick. Kill.

My leg twitched, and I couldn’t stop the urge. My muscles bunched; the tip of my black dress-shoe connected with the underside of his chin. His head snapped backward, sending him sprawling to the irregular stonework of the driveway.

Blood instantly flowed from his mouth, eyes flickering closed.

“For f**k’s sake—get Mercer inside!” The leader stalked toward me.

Instead of standing still, waiting for punishment, I prowled forward, pushing my taller form against his in a blatant threat. “I’m capable of stepping into a house on my own accord. I don’t trust you and your f**king imbeciles with guns.” Muttering under my breath, I said, “Tu as environ six heures à vivre. Vis les pleinement.” You have about six hours to live. Enjoy them wisely.

Not waiting for a reply, I headed toward the entrance.

Once again, I pressed the hard node under my skin. A small smidgen of relief soothed my anger. I calculated how long it would take a rescue party to turn up. If Franco had put the plan into effect before they took me, it would be anywhere from six to eight hours before the team would be mobile and on Lynx’s doorstep.

I’ll go with six hours.

Six hours to keep Lynx talking and away from any particularly life threatening tools.

Raising my bound hands, I knocked on the old-fashioned stain-glass door. The glass depicted a bare forest—tree skeletons in burnt oranges, browns, and blacks.

A memory of coming here thirteen months ago to collect a slave filled my mind—the games I played. The role I embraced of sadistic master buying a woman as if it was a normal transaction.

My heart sped up as the door swung open. I kept my features blank. Disdain dripped from every pour, no longer hiding how much I f**king hated the retard in front of me.

Lynx smiled, his tanned skin gleaming against the dark red of his suit. A black mandarin shirt, coupled with bright crimson shoes, made him look f**king ridiculous. His hair was the usual black mohawk, gelled into submission, while the shorter sides mirrored the same dark red of his trousers and blazer.

“Going on a date, Dante?” I raised an eyebrow. “Dressed like that I’d say you’re fishing for c**k not pu**y.” He wasn’t g*y—just a f**king tosser trying way too hard.

Lynx pursed his lips. He hated that I knew his real name. Dante Emestro. When he’d contacted me five years ago, asking for help with planning permission for an illegal racetrack in a low density area, I’d done my usual background checks. I’d jangled every skeleton, knew every torrid secret. I also knew he’d sold his sister when he turned eighteen, all to gain access to the underbelly of trafficking.