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The Craig shifted his weight. “Yes, sir.”

“I won’t cancel our trip to Newark tomorrow.” Roy approached her, hands in his pockets, eyes boring into her. “That worthless Russian running the Dinmore shipment cannot be trusted with this job. There’s too much on the line with this one. I have to be there.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Charlee will go with us.” He patted her head. “How’s that sound, beautiful girl. A trip to New Jersey?”

Like she had a choice. Leaving Nathan’s vigilance rammed her heart to her stomach. She suspected he’d watched her on the cameras over the previous two weeks and that knowledge alone had made her feel protected and less lonely, despite the depraved situations he must’ve witnessed. “Yes, Sir.”

“Very good. Salvador, make the preparations and find that fucking mole.”

15

That night, Roy caned Charlee harder than ever before. Perhaps because he anticipated little opportunity to beat her on the trip or maybe it was punishment for Henry and the mole. She limped to bed on heavy feet, nursing even heavier thoughts. The reason for his brutality didn’t matter. Nathan was in danger, and she didn’t intend on leaving him.

As Roy showered, she gathered the chain beneath her pillow, one link at a time and hoped the movement wasn’t caught by the cameras.

He joined her in bed and wrapped his body around hers. She lay still.Please don’t stretch an arm beneath the pillow.

He settled, and she stared into the dark, listening as his breath slowed into the rhythmic pulse of sleep.

Thirty minutes passed. If she waited any longer, she’d wimp out. She could do this.Do it now.

At least one of the cameras would be infrared. They would see her but wouldn’t reach the room in time.

She clutched a length of chain, her hands concealed under the pillow, her movements slow and precise. He was on his back, his chest rising and falling with even respiration.

The garrote was ready, taut between her fists.Breathe, Charlee. Three…two…one…

She slipped it from the pillow, shoved it beneath his chin, and crossed her fists behind his head.

Sirens blared and the overhead lights flickered on. Damn it to high heaven. She hadn’t thought of that.

His eyes popped open, and his hands shot to hers. “Charleeeeee.” His roar was a bad sign. Very bad. It meant she hadn’t yanked hard enough. He could still breathe…and scream.

He wrestled her for the noose, and the stomping of footfalls exploded through the door.

Pull tighter, dammit. He was gasping, hacking. His eyes rolled back in his head. It was beautiful.

A fist shot through her periphery, slammed into her eye. Then another. And another.

She couldn’t breathe. She clawed at her throat. The chain. Oh God, the chain was wrapped around her neck and a heavy weight crushed her chest. Roy stared down at her, his face a manifestation of hell itself. Even if she survived, she wouldn’t recover from this.

“Your eyes,” he whispered. “That’s the first thing I noticed about you the night Craig Grosky brought you to my doorstep. Big open windows.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t take a breath. Her lungs burned. The dark crept in from the edges.

He cinched the noose tighter, his face raging above her like a wall of nightmares closing in. She swiped a hand at him. He grabbed her flailing arm, bent it backward. Something cracked, and pain jolted through her shoulder and chest. Another blow landed in her side, and her lung burned as if stabbed.

She couldn’t scream, couldn’t moan, couldn’t inhale. Her eyes throbbed. She blinked through the wet darkness, tried to open them as wide as possible and fill them with her words.Would you survive my death?

He stared at her. His brows slanted in aV, the angle of his clenched jaw severe. She wasn’t getting through to him. He was going to kill her. It was there in his glare.

The part of her brain capable of processing her own end grasped onto a thread of optimism. He wouldn’t survive her death. She was certain of it, and the thought made her smile, as much as her contorted face would allow.Do it. Kill me.She was so fucking ready.

His eyes widened, but he wasn’t looking through them. They were glazed and far away. Had he come to the same realization?

He flung himself off her, and the sound of his footsteps marked his clumsy retreat.