Her lip is curling ferociously, not that it has any impact on the wall of fury taking over me. I find my own lip curling in response, my eyes daring her to come at me. I can see him in my peripheral vision, still hanging lifelessly from the wall. It jerks my anger. My skin tingles from the rampant fury fizzing in my veins, and before I can even contemplate my actions, my arm is flying forward, sending the belt buckle sailing through the air. I don’t wait to see where it connects, but her yelp of pain tells me it has. I race over to Miller and lift my hand to his cheek, brushing across his stubble softly. He mumbles some incoherent words and nuzzles sleepily into my palm. His actions and the popping of fireworks under my skin spur me to reach for his restraints. I start to calmly unravel his hands from the fetters.
“Get away from him!” She’s suddenly beside me, grabbing at Miller’s arm, staking her claim. He flinches on a heart-breaking whimper.
I can’t bear the sound.
I tear around, livid, swinging my hand out without stopping to aim. “Don’t touch him!” I scream, the back of my hand colliding with her face on an ear-piercing slap. She staggers back, disorientated, and I take advantage of her stumble, throwing my palms into her chest to push her farther away from Miller. My Miller.
I have no fear. None at all. I slowly return my attention to Miller, but I gasp when my hand is suddenly seized. Not by her hand, though. Pain sears through my flesh, and I look down to see the leather of her sick weapon wrapped around my burning wrist.
“Move away,” she repeats, yanking at the whip and hauling me toward her. I cry out in pain, realizing quickly that I’m getting way out of my depth. She’s not going to give him up.
“You move away, Ekaterina.”
My head whips up at the sound of my mother’s voice, and I find her at the doorway, heaving, taking a moment to assess the situation. She looks angry, her stance wide, her eyes flicking from me to Miller before settling on the sick bitch who’s attached to me by a whip. My mother’s face is twisted with contempt.
And she has a gun in her hand.
I’m struck dumb, my eyes rooted on the weapon pointing right at the Russian.
I only have to wait a few seconds before the constricting leather releases from my wrist, and I begin rubbing the pain away on a wince.
“Gracie Taylor,” she muses, smiling. “I’m going to pretend you haven’t got a gun pointing at my head.” Her accent sounds hypnotizing and calm.
“You do that.” Gracie steps forward. “Then ring your brother and tell him Charlie hasn’t delivered.”
Perfectly threaded eyebrows arch in surprise. “Why would I do that?”
“The deal Charlie and your dear brother struck is void. Miller doesn’t belong to Charlie anymore, Ekaterina. He’s not Charlie’s to give. Look at him. Does he look willing to you? Charlie did that. I’m sure that’s not what you were anticipating after everything you’ve heard about the Special One.” My mum’s lips curl, showing a hardness in her I haven’t yet seen. “I know you don’t want to tarnish your formidable reputation with the label “rapist,’ Ekaterina.”
She drops her whip and casts a look over to Miller, pouting, before returning her attention to my mother. “I like to hear them begging me to stop.” She looks slighted as she slowly wanders over to Gracie, who lowers the gun cautiously. “And you say Charlie Anderson did this to him. Drugged him? Made him utterly useless to me?”
“Do you want it in blood?”
“Yes,” she sneers, looking my mother up and down. “Charlie’s blood.” She’s serious. “I think I’ll call my brother. He doesn’t like it when I’m upset.”
“No one likes it when you are upset, Ekaterina.”
“Very true.” She almost laughs as she turns a filthy look on me. “She looks like you, Gracie. Maybe you could teach her some manners.”
“Her manners are just fine in the right company,” she retorts, making Ekaterina smile coldly at my mother’s front. “Charlie’s in the drawing room. William has left him breathing for you. Think of it as a thank-you from my daughter.”
She smiles, nodding agreeably. “You have a brave girl, Gracie. Maybe too brave.” I can see the pleasure filling her immoral bones at the mere thought of revenge. “I am grateful for your gift.” Her accent rolls beautifully, despite the violent edge to her tone. “Good-bye, Gracie.” She sashays out of the room, her hips swaying seductively as she drags the whip behind her.
Gracie lets out an audible breath of relief, the gun dropping to the floor, and as soon as the Russian is out of sight, I go straight to Miller, grabbing a towel from the bed on my way. My heart cracks as I wrap the towel around his waist and make quick work of releasing his arms, leaving him falling toward me fast. The best I can do is fold to the floor with him, breaking his fall.