Page 96 of The Hunter

It was all a lie.

In reality, he tied me up and delivered proof to someone. Someone who called me merchandise. Someone who paid for me.

Someone connected to the fucking Bratva.

I didn’t know everything about them, but in Miami, their reputation was urban legend and nightmare rolled into one. Assassins. Enforcers. Disappearances. People said if the Bratva wanted you gone, you were.

And Henry was working for them.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. For one traitorous second, I wanted to believe maybe he changed his mind and that was why I was still here. That maybe his original intention was to hand me over, but something stopped him.

Maybe he cared.

I remembered the way he tucked my hair behind my ear in the dark. The way his mouth had pressed to mine like he couldn’t go another second without kissing me. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t a burden, but something holy.

But then I looked at the picture again.

And the reminder of what he did.

No amount of quiet protectiveness or soft tenderness could erase it.

Seeing myself like that, a still frame of my own dehumanization, proof of a job well done, broke something inside me.

It didn’t matter that he held me like I meant something. Didn’t matter if his hands had been gentle. Didn’t matter what he'd whispered in the quiet. It wasn’t real. It was just a twisted performance to keep me docile. To keep “the merchandise” from panicking.

This was the wakeup call I desperately needed. I had to get out of here.

But I needed to be smart about it. Smarter than him. Henry wasn’t like Victor, all ego and carelessness. He was methodical. Tactical. Deadly.

I couldn’t just grab the car keys and drive away. He’d find me before I made it more than a mile. I had no idea where I was. No idea how to get out of this place, other than the single dirt path I saw the first time I tried to escape.

If I wanted this plan to work, I needed to incapacitate him.

I instantly thought of the guns in the hallway closet. But I’d never fired a gun in my life, let alone tried to use one against a man who could kill me with his bare hands if he wanted to.

No. I needed something more effective. Something that could guarantee me at least a few hours of a head start.

Then I remembered the bottles I’d seen in the first-aid kit. Something for pain. The warning label indicated it may cause drowsiness and not to operate heavy machinery.

That could work.

I could crush them. Hide them in his drink. His dinner. Both, to be on the safe side. I didn’t need much. Just needed to knock him out long enough so I could slip away without him following me.

This was my only chance. I refused to waste it.

Because no matter how many lies he told or how badly I wanted to believe them, there was one thing that mattered more than everything else.

He stole me.

For the Bratva.

And I wasn’t going to wait around for the handoff.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Henry

My eyes blurred, a tension headache forming from the hours I’d spent staring at the screens in front of me, something I knew I should have been limiting, considering I was still experiencing mild side effects from the concussion. But I couldn’t stop. I needed answers, especially after learning the man who attempted to abduct Ariana was Bratva. The same man I saw in one of Sarah’s last videos.