Red Handed(34)
Gracie beamed. “Of course, Master.” She caught Danielle’s gaze and wiggled her eyebrow before galloping off to the basement.
With everyone now gone, Cole made good on his word and escorted Danielle to her room, his touch even more confusing now that she’d witnessed his attack on Rinaldi. “How did Rinaldi know my name?” she asked.
The fingers of his hand curled into her waist. “Word gets around when Benediction gets a beautiful new slave trainee.”
She didn’t believe him, but why would he lie? Now at her room, she pivoted so her back rested against the wooden door and searched his eyes for the truth. “I thought you were going to hurt him.”
“I wanted to.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Because of me?
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “Because Rinaldi and I have a complicated history, and it’s my responsibility to protect”—his gaze dropped to her lips—“all my slaves. You’re safe here.”
She held her breath as his mouth inched closer and closer. At the last second, he stopped, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”
Leaving her wanting and confused, he turned and walked away, as if she’d imagined the entire moment. And although she was flooded with the urge to confront him on it, she let him go, knowing it was for the best.
Chapter Thirteen
A RECTANGULAR, LIGHT blue Tiffany box with a white bow tied around it sat on her bed as though it was her birthday.
She fingered the Tiffany locket around her neck and shivered, goose bumps developing up and down her arms. The sensation of being watched returned.
Could Cole have left her a present?
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received a gift. Tasha wrote her checks, and Roman took her shopping to pick out something she wanted, but a surprise gift? It must have been more than eight years ago. Before her father had been imprisoned.
This box looked innocent enough, but for some reason, it felt . . . ominous. She sat on her bed, picked it up, and shook it. The box was light, and she didn’t hear anything.
She carefully untied the bow and slid it off the box.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then the noise disappeared, almost as if someone had stopped in front of her door. Was it the person who’d left her the gift? Were they waiting for her reaction?
Her hands trembled as she slowly lifted the top off the box. Gasping, she dropped its bloody contents on the floor. Nausea choked her.
A finger.
Discolored and gray, with dry, crusted, black blood coating the bottom where it had been severed from the hand, there was no mistaking the finger’s identity.
The long red polished nail.
The faded scar underneath the knuckle.
The platinum and diamond wedding band.
The finger belonged to Tasha. Had belonged to Tasha.
Her belly churned, and she gagged. Rushing to the bathroom, she barely made it to the toilet before emptying all the contents of her stomach.
Why? She’d done everything they had asked. Gotten on a plane and left her life in Arizona behind. Convinced Cole to let her train as a sex slave.
How had the box gotten to her room? She’d locked the door.
Maybe one of the trainees knew something about how it had arrived. But what if it came from one of the other trainees? Was one of them working for the kidnappers? It would certainly make sense. Any one of them could be watching her and reporting back.
But what had she done to warrant Tasha losing her finger?
Her poor stepmother. She didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this.
Danielle flushed the toilet and cleaned up at the sink, brushing her teeth and rinsing her mouth out with mouthwash. She couldn’t fall apart. Not when Tasha’s life was on the line.
Now she had to figure out what to do with the finger. She couldn’t keep it here. But she couldn’t bear to throw it away in the garbage either. What if she needed it later as evidence? Surely when Tasha came home, they could contact the police and start an investigation.
Her breathing calmed, and her hands steadied. She could do this. She’d take the box outside and find a safe place to hide it.
She stepped out of the bathroom and into her bedroom just as the door to her room clicked shut. Frozen, she scanned the room, immediately noticing the package and the finger were gone.
They’d been in her room while she was in the bathroom, oblivious, only feet away.
The nausea returned as she raced to the door and flung it open. She stepped into the hall and found it empty. It had to be one of the trainees. There was no way anyone else could’ve gotten away so quickly. She scanned all the closed doors. Which one hid the trespasser? Did they know what they had delivered?