Page 49 of Toxic Attraction
"Please what?" He takes the final step, crowding me against the desk, hands bracing on either side of my hips. Caging me. "Please don't kill you? Please let you go? Please believe whatever bullshit excuse you're about to give me?"
I can't answer. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stand here trapped between his body and the desk while my heart tries to hammer through my ribs.
"Who sent you?" The question comes out quiet. Deadly.
I can't tell him. Patrick will kill Ethan. Will kill Mom. Will make me watch.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
His hand comes up to my throat so fast I don't see it coming. Wraps around my neck—not squeezing yet, just resting there, a promise of what he could do if I keep lying.
"Try again, mouse."
"I'm not—there's no one—"
His grip tightens slightly. Not cutting off air, but making it harder to get. Making the threat very, very clear.
"Last chance, Valerie. Who. Sent. You."
Tears burn my eyes. I shake my head because I can't speak with his hand on my throat, can't explain that answering him means death for my family, can't make him understand that I'm trapped between two monsters and there's no right choice.
His grip tightens. Not cutting off air completely, but making it harder. Making the threat very, very clear.
"I can make this very painful, Valerie. Or you can tell me the truth and maybe—maybe—I'll let you live." His thumb presses against my pulse. "Who. Sent. You."
Tears burn my eyes. I can't answer. Can't breathe. Can't—
"Last chance." His voice drops to something colder. "Or I call Mikhail in here and we do this a different way. You know what I’m capable of, Valerie, do not test me. I’ll find your family—”
No. No no no—
"My father!" It tears out of me. "My father owed money. A lot of money. To someone—I don't know who. And when he couldn't pay, they killed him."
His grip loosens slightly. Enough to let me breathe. "Go on."
"The debt didn't die with him. It transferred to us. To me, my mom, and my brother." The lie pours out mixed with truth. "They said if I didn't pay it off, they'd kill my family. Kill Ethan."
"How much?"
"I don't know exactly. Hundreds of thousands. Maybe more."
"And spying on me pays this debt how?"
"They said—" I swallow hard. "They said if I gathered information on you and reported back, they'd consider it payment. That each piece of intel was worth money off what we owe."
His eyes narrow. Searching my face for lies. "Who are 'they'?"
"I don't know." This part has to sound convincing. "I never met them directly. Just got phone calls. Instructions. They never gave names."
"Bullshit." His hand tightens again. "You're working for someone, and you don't know who?"
"I swear! I only ever talked to one man on the phone. He never said his name. Never met face-to-face. Just calls and tells me what to find and where to send it."
"What phone?"
"Burner. He gave it to me after—after my dad died."
His jaw clenches. He doesn't believe me. I can see it in his eyes—he knows I'm lying, or at least not telling the whole truth.
