Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
And Cole . . . Cole who plans for every contingency, who has backup plans for his backup plans, who has built his empire on being three steps ahead of everyone else—he has to know by now. Has to be moving pieces into place, making calls, mobilizing whatever network of resources he has for exactly this kind of nightmare.
Every second Julian talks is another second bringing Cole closer. Because Cole is coming. Not if, but when. And god help anyone who stands in his way.
Julian moves to a leather briefcase I hadn’t noticed before, and my breath catches as he starts laying out familiar pieces on his desk. My pieces. The ones his men must have taken when they grabbed me.
“Beautiful work,” he says, arranging them with disturbing care. “Perhaps not quite Claire’s level, but . . . promising.” His fingers trail over my designs. “Tell me, Sloane, would you like to know what I have planned for you?”
The casual way he asks sends ice through my veins, but I force myself to meet his eyes. “Isn’t that the part where the villain traditionally monologues about his grand plan?”
“Ah, but that would spoil the surprise.” His eyes drift to the collection pieces arranged on his desk. “I suppose I could share that your designs—your exquisite, innovative designs—will make the perfect addition to Claire’s collection. The collection Cole has kept hidden away in this case. The one you will be opening for me. Otherwise . . . well, let’s just say I’ll need to make your disappearance as convincing as your former assistant’s.”
My blood turns to ice. “Maya? What did you do to her?”
Julian ignores me, turning to the Russians. “Get her to the scanner. We need her biometrics to access the case. Cole set it up so only Claire, himself, or his designated successor could open it.” He smiles coldly at me. “Congratulations, Ms. Whitmore. You’re the successor.”
What the fuck is he talking about? Biometrics? But my thoughts quickly return to Maya.
“Maya was working for you, wasn’t she? That’s why she disappeared, isn’t it? She found something while working on your fake Claire collection.”
Julian’s laugh is cold, empty. “Smart girl. Yes, she was quite talented. Not as good as you, but she had potential. Until she started asking the wrong questions. Looking through the wrong files.” He shrugs, the gesture casual, chilling. “She lacked . . . staying power.”
Oh my god. Maya is dead. Because of what she knew, what she saw.
One of the Russians drags my chair toward the biometric device. I struggle against the restraints, but it’s useless. His fingers dig into my scalp as he forces my face toward the scanner, and I think of Maya, of what they might have done to her before the end. I squeeze my eyes shut, twist my face into the most grotesque expression I can manage, anything to prevent the scan from working.
“Nyet. Stop this,” the Russian growls, gripping my jaw harder. “Face normal.”
“Sorry, this IS my normal face,” I reply, then cross my eyes and puff out my cheeks like a demented chipmunk. The scanner beeps in protest.
“It needs neutral expression!” he barks, shaking me slightly.
I immediately switch to an exaggerated smile that would make the Joker proud. “Is this better? I’m being very cooperative.” The scanner flashes red again.
Julian sighs heavily. “Ms. Whitmore, childish antics won’t help you. That system needs to verify your identity to access Cole’s case where Claire’s final collection is stored.”
“Oh, is THAT what we’re doing? Why didn’t you say so?” I ask innocently, before launching into a series of rapid-fire expressions—duck lips, nostrils flared, eyebrows waggling independently, and what I hope is a passable impression of a constipated walrus.
The Russian curses in his native tongue, while his partner snickers despite himself. Julian’s perfect composure finally cracks.
“Enough!” he snaps. “Hold her properly. I want access to those jewels NOW.”
The first Russian clamps my head in a viselike grip while the other produces a small spray bottle. “This make eyes open,” he warns, positioning it uncomfortably close to my face.
Great. Threats of chemical warfare. That’s totally going to make me cooperate.
“You won’t win,” Julian says calmly, watching my desperate attempts. “Everyone breaks eventually. Maya did. Even Claire did, in her way.”
He pulls out his phone, smile widening. “Besides, I think Cole should be here for this conversation. I’m sure he’s wondering where you are by now.” He smiles, all predator, as he pulls out his phone. “Why don’t we give him a call?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven Cole
Something’s wrong.
I feel it the moment the elevator doors open. The penthouse is too quiet, too still. No Christmas music drifting from the kitchen where Sloane had insisted on attempting to cook. No sound of Havoc’s nails clicking across the hardwood as he races to greet me.
“Sloane?” My voice echoes in the silence.