Page 72 of Twisted Enemy
“I’m sorry,” I say instead.
She shakes her head. A single deep breath straightens her spine, pinning her shoulders back. Raising her chin, she says, “I’msorry. What you do with Cole really isn’t my business.”
“He keeps me safe,” I say, somehow needing to defend him. “He doesn’t force me.”
“The best men don’t.”
There’s a library of stories there. She’s saying she has one of the best men, Trap Prince. And she’s saying that Trap does things to her, that she consents… She’s saying that despite the fact that she manages the freeport and she runs auctions and she’s one of the most accomplished women I’ve ever met in my life, she submits to Trap.
Her voice hardens, though, as she says, “But someone hurt you. Someone made you afraid.”
And there are other stories there. Alix has been hurt. She’s been forced to do things she never imagined she could do. Someone hollowed her out and left her to rot, but her very presence here says she survived.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“There were two men in the room you fled. Do you need?—”
Before she can finish there’s a brisk knock. The door opens to reveal an older woman who wears a business suit as if it’s armor. Her silver hair frames her face like a helmet.
“Susan,” Alix says. “Can it wait?’
Susan gives me the quickest of glances before she shakes her head. Handing over a stack of paper, she says, “I’m afraid not.”
Alix pushes herself to her feet as she starts to scan the documents. “What’s this?”
Susan looks at me again before she replies, “The curatorial reports for the auction. I’ve just given a copy to Trap. The executive summary is all you need. All three paintings are fakes.”
30
COLE
The freeport employee passes me the last page from the towering stack that makes the sale of all three paintings final. The paperwork went substantially faster once the buyers finished their end of things. The Russians are all drinking each other’s good fortune in one of the galleries.
The serious young woman sitting next to me says, “And this one will authorize the deposit of all funds into your account by no later than?—”
The paper flies across the room. The stack of completed documents follows in a flurry. The high-back leather chair I’m sitting in tilts like a carnival ride and my head whips to the side like a medical school demonstration of whiplash.
I’m sprawled across the chair before I realize I’ve been punched. My jaw feels like it’s been dislocated and lightning bolts of pain burrow into my throat, my sinuses, and my brain.
“On your feet, motherfucker.”
I shake my head, trying to drive away the fog.
“Jizzstain! I told you to fucking stand!”
My feet won’t follow my commands. My head slams back in reaction to the fist that grips my necktie. I’m hauled upright and left to sway as the room breathes in and out.
A blow lands in my gut, a solid uppercut that sends me reeling. My knees threaten to buckle, and I stagger toward the window. “Not so fast, cocksucker!” Another fist finds my belly like an anvil, doubling me over. I have just enough presence of mind to raise my forearms, to keep from taking a knee to my nose.
“Trap!” The command comes from the door.
Trap Prince growls like a subway train, pulling back his fist to aim for my face. Alix pushes her way between us before he can land the blow.
“Get out of here, Alix,” Prince snarls.
She doesn’t answer him. Instead, she snaps at me, “Over there.” She points to the far end of the table.
“I swear to fucking God,” Prince says, lunging to follow me.
