Page 109 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"Violet," Rodrigo gestured toward Alan. "Who's your friend?"

Violet's chest tightened as she looked down at the man who'd saved her life. "He's my guardian angel," she said.

And then the radio on the dead guard's belt barked to life.

"Mrs. Durant," Damien's voice was a knife twisting in her gut. "It seems you've made a nuisance of yourself tonight. You tortured one of my guards and killed two more."

Violet stalked to the guard, removed his radio and pressed the talk button. "Make that three, arsehole."

"In that case, it's definitely time you stopped your rampage, don't you think?"

"I'm just getting started," Violet promised.

"Oh, I don't think so. You see, you lost something and one of my guards found it. Hunkered down beside a palm tree of all places."

There was a pause and Max's voice came through the radio. "Ignore him, Vi. He is an asshole."

Violet closed her eyes and hung her head. She should never have left him out there. She shouldn't have listened to his plea or fallen for his puppy dog eyes. She knew better. But he just had to get his story. She was too bloody soft around the man.

"As you can hear," Damien said. "I have your husband."

"What do you want?" Violet asked evenly.

"I want you to come to my sitting room and die alongside Maximillian."

Oh, how she hated this bloody monster. "That isn't how you negotiate, Damien. Why would I surrender myself if you're just going to kill us both? If I stay away, then there will be one of us left to skin you alive before this is over."

He chuckled and all she heard was nails on a chalkboard. "True, but if you don't show yourself, I'll start dismantling Maximillian, piece by piece, instead of simply putting a bullet in his brain. I think I'll start by cutting off a finger. His ring finger seems the most appropriate, don't you think? After all, this is your wedding day."

"What I think," she said. "Is that I'm going to rip you apart, Damien. You’re going to beg for death. And it won't come."

"Oh, you’re a feisty one, aren't you?" He sounded delighted at her reaction. All she'd done was feed the monster. "You've got two minutes to get in here or I start removing fingers. Your choice."

The radio fell silent.

"What do you want to do?" Rodrigo asked.

"I want to get my husband." Violet reached into her pockets and pulled out the flash-bangs and smoke grenade she'd taken from the guardroom. "But I want to do it my way."

Rodrigo and Logan shared a grin.

CHAPTER FORTY

Max was disgusted with himself. To get caught once was bad enough, but twice was just embarrassing. Worse still, this time he'd been caught because a guard overheard him talking into his radio during a lull in the storm. Violet had been right when she'd told him his inability to shut up would get him killed.

And now, there was a good chance it'd get her killed too.

Way to go, Max.

He was on his knees, hands bound in front of him, in the middle of Damien's massive sitting room. Opulent and over-the-top seemed to be the standard brief Damien gave to his decorators. The result was that the room reminded Max of the Palace of Versailles. There was even a mural on the ceiling and ugly painted privacy screens placed somewhat randomly around the room.

Whereas the office had Picasso's paintings on the walls, this one had bronze sculptures dotted around the floor. They were all different heights but seemed to be of a similar theme—Greek and Roman warriors in different poses, some with spears, some with bows and arrows, all looking very masculine. Between the cherubs on the ceiling and the soldiers on the floor, Max wasn't sure what the message of the room was supposed to be.

"What do you think?" Damien said, sitting on the arm of the sofa next to Max.

"About your decor?" Max said. "Gay bordello, maybe?"

Damien's leg swung out and he casually kicked Max in the middle of his chest. With a grunt of pain, Max fell backward. Only to be righted by one of the guards, who grabbed a handful of hair and jerked Max back into position. He was a toy for these guys, and it was pissing him off.