Avenge :Romanian Mob Chronicles(41)

“Mr. Constantin, I—”

“No, Lily. I insist. And you’ll find this interesting and helpful. I promise.”

I’d thought this day was bad, and I had been right. I looked at Christoph Junior again, still saw no hint that he would relent. So I could take my chances, go along with him, or force the issue. Christoph Junior was not nearly as large as Anton, and I doubted he was as strong. But he didn’t need to be. I was more than familiar with my own limitations. I knew I had no chance against him.

I folded into the backseat, almost recoiled when he slid in next to me.

“This won’t take long,” he said, casually tossing an arm around my shoulder.

“If you’d just—”

“No. I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” he said.

Then he went silent, and each second that passed felt like an eternity, the weight of his arm on my shoulders getting heavier with each passing second. When we rode over a bump, the jarring of the car made me realize how tightly I gripped my purse, so I relaxed my hold, tried to get a handle on my fear.

My heart pounded so hard I thought he might be able to hear it, but even though I knew he was probably aware of how tense I was, I would do my best not to confirm it.

When the car stopped, he got out and then reached out for me. I stepped out of the vehicle, ignoring his outstretched hand. But he grabbed me anyway, hand on my elbow, his grip tighter than I would have liked, though any touch from Christoph Junior was more than I would have liked.

The building appeared to be a club of some sort, though it wasn’t open for business. The bars and decor confirmed it, but Christoph Junior kept moving, led me down a flight of stairs into a dark basement.

“Mr. Constantin, I—”

“We’re here,” he said as he opened a door and led me in, then closed the door behind him.

The room appeared to be an office, the desk and chair looking official, the stainless-steel door on the opposite side of the room anything but.

“This way,” he said, tilting his head to the door. I wasn’t going toward that door. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what was behind it, and more, I didn’t want to.

“I should go,” I said, making a step to retreat.

Christoph Junior cut off my path. “No. You should stay. The festivities have just begun.”

He glared at me, the smile on his face only enhancing the menace in his eyes.

“No. I think I’ll go…” I said, voice trembling as I trailed off.

His smile dropped. “I think you’ll stay.”

He grabbed my wrist, twisted my arm behind me, grip tight as a vise. Anton had done much the same before, his grip almost as tight, but not half as punishing. It occurred to me that Anton had had the power to hurt me but hadn’t, something that should’ve been obvious, seemed so now, but that I had missed at the time.

I missed it now, too, welcomed it as the alternative to Christoph Junior’s grip, his thick fingers squeezing my bones until it felt like they would give. I wanted to cry out, scream against the pain, but I didn’t, and instead looked wildly around the room, gaze landing on two men who stood in the corner, ones I hadn’t noticed before, dark eyes assessing me as if I were a curiosity.

There would be no help there, so I didn’t bother to ask, and instead said, “Christoph Junior, what do you want?”

His breath was hot against my neck as he pushed me to walk forward. “‘Christoph Junior’? Are we friends?”

He waited as if he expected an answer, and I bit my tongue to hold back the words. Holding my tongue hurt me almost as much as his grip, but to speak now would forever rob me of the chance to repay him, rob me of the chance to see Anton again, so I stayed silent, hoped that my face and body didn’t show the rage that threatened to consume me.

“No, we aren’t friends,” I said, lifting a hand to the cold door when he stopped.

“That’s right. You’re Anton’s friend, aren’t you?”

I said nothing, just gripped the door as tight as I could.

“You mute now, iubită?”

I recognized the word from when Anton had used it, but instead of pleasure, from Christoph Junior it filled me with fear, set off a tingling in my spine that I didn’t want to acknowledge, but that was there nonetheless.

He chuckled, the sound stoking my rage, and then released my arm and palmed the back of my neck, holding it so I was forced to look straight ahead.

I looked through the window, and my gaze was immediately drawn to the middle of the room where he stood, his back to me, his shoulders flexing with movement, though I couldn’t see what he was doing with his hands. I told myself it was impossible to miss him, that my gaze hadn’t been drawn to him by the pull I felt. But whatever made me look, I knew that my eyes were pleading, begging that he turn around.