punches some keys into a keypad to open a thick, steel door, and puts his hands on my shoulders. He points me in a direction I think is the front of the prison. “Guard at the end of this hall’s Germain. Tell him Larry sent you.”
Before I can fully process what’s going on, he says something into a Bluetooth. I hear mostly just grunts, and then an African-American man appears at the other end of the short hall.
I figure this new guy can’t be as bad as Larry, so I take a few long, quick strides. Germain grabs my elbow and I fear I’m wrong. He starts to drag me past the rows of steel doors on each side of the hall. I jerk my arm away and dig my heels in.
“Stop it !” My voice rings through the empty hall, and Germain peers down at me. “I don’t know who you people think I am, but—”
“I know exactly who you are, swee theart. Come with Daddy. We’ve got some questions for you.”
“Beast?” I say. Is he taking me to Beast?
“You’re his bitch. That’s why we’re asking you the questions. ”
I ’m about to tell him I’m also Holt’s daughter when I feel his hand press down on my back, and I’m guided through an open doorway to my right.
And there I find all three of them: the amoral -looking bastard in the dress suit, and the two men in black jumpsuits and boots.
CHAPTER 2
Annabelle
The man in th e suit is sitting at a faux wood table, in the middle of a boxy room. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, I can see he has salt and pepper hair and thick frown brackets around his mouth. He’s lean but well-worked-out. Maybe sixty? The other two, both closer to my age, sit on his left and right wearing apathetic frowns.
As soon as Suit sees me, his eyes widen. “Miss Mitchell.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. After just a second, he locks his face down again, the frown lines reminding me a little of a Hollywood movie villain.
I stand up straighter and try to look tough, despite Germain’s death grip on my forearm.
“ You can let go of Miss Mitchell,” Suit tells Germain.
He d oes, and then steps back behind me somewhere. I have to resist the urge to massage my arm.
I try to keep my face as neutral as possible while Suit stares at me. After a few seconds, my patience and anxiety get the best of me, and I speak first.
“How do you know my name?”
Suit smirks, and it’s a handsome smirk. A smirk that makes him look like the embodiment of ‘The Man.’
“You’re Beast’s new pastime,” he says in his old Marlboro commercial voice. “Everybody at La Rosa knows he fucks you.”
My eyes bug out. Did he really just say that to me?
“‘Mine.’ ” His lips draw into a smug-looking pucker. “Isn’t that right, Annabelle?”
If his goal is to throw me off, he’s starting to succeed. I’m confused and self-conscious, wondering if I look just-fucked in my yellow shirt and red jeans. I run my fingers over my curls, and he drags his gaze up and down me, blatantly assessing. I can’t tell what his judgment is. His face remains impassive. He waits another second before speaking, and I can tell this is his M.O. Whoever he is, and whatever he does, intimidation is not something he’s new to.
“Why don’t you sit down, Annabelle?”
I shake my head. “No thank you. I’ve gotta going home. I’ve got family waiting on me.”
H is eyes flicker past me, to Germain—a silent order. “I don’t think so.”
I fight the cold fear that washes through me. “I do. Do you know who my—”
“Y our ex-step-father is?”
My mouth goes dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as I say, “Yes. That’s right. Mr. …what’s your name?”
He stands up and extends his hand across the table. “Robert. Robert Ryan.”
I lean over and shake it, because I’m moving on auto-pilot and I’m not sure what else to do. Why does that name sound so familiar?
“I’m the district attorney, Miss Mitchell. I’m here for a specific purpose, and I’m enlisting the
Before I can fully process what’s going on, he says something into a Bluetooth. I hear mostly just grunts, and then an African-American man appears at the other end of the short hall.
I figure this new guy can’t be as bad as Larry, so I take a few long, quick strides. Germain grabs my elbow and I fear I’m wrong. He starts to drag me past the rows of steel doors on each side of the hall. I jerk my arm away and dig my heels in.
“Stop it !” My voice rings through the empty hall, and Germain peers down at me. “I don’t know who you people think I am, but—”
“I know exactly who you are, swee theart. Come with Daddy. We’ve got some questions for you.”
“Beast?” I say. Is he taking me to Beast?
“You’re his bitch. That’s why we’re asking you the questions. ”
I ’m about to tell him I’m also Holt’s daughter when I feel his hand press down on my back, and I’m guided through an open doorway to my right.
And there I find all three of them: the amoral -looking bastard in the dress suit, and the two men in black jumpsuits and boots.
CHAPTER 2
Annabelle
The man in th e suit is sitting at a faux wood table, in the middle of a boxy room. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, I can see he has salt and pepper hair and thick frown brackets around his mouth. He’s lean but well-worked-out. Maybe sixty? The other two, both closer to my age, sit on his left and right wearing apathetic frowns.
As soon as Suit sees me, his eyes widen. “Miss Mitchell.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. After just a second, he locks his face down again, the frown lines reminding me a little of a Hollywood movie villain.
I stand up straighter and try to look tough, despite Germain’s death grip on my forearm.
“ You can let go of Miss Mitchell,” Suit tells Germain.
He d oes, and then steps back behind me somewhere. I have to resist the urge to massage my arm.
I try to keep my face as neutral as possible while Suit stares at me. After a few seconds, my patience and anxiety get the best of me, and I speak first.
“How do you know my name?”
Suit smirks, and it’s a handsome smirk. A smirk that makes him look like the embodiment of ‘The Man.’
“You’re Beast’s new pastime,” he says in his old Marlboro commercial voice. “Everybody at La Rosa knows he fucks you.”
My eyes bug out. Did he really just say that to me?
“‘Mine.’ ” His lips draw into a smug-looking pucker. “Isn’t that right, Annabelle?”
If his goal is to throw me off, he’s starting to succeed. I’m confused and self-conscious, wondering if I look just-fucked in my yellow shirt and red jeans. I run my fingers over my curls, and he drags his gaze up and down me, blatantly assessing. I can’t tell what his judgment is. His face remains impassive. He waits another second before speaking, and I can tell this is his M.O. Whoever he is, and whatever he does, intimidation is not something he’s new to.
“Why don’t you sit down, Annabelle?”
I shake my head. “No thank you. I’ve gotta going home. I’ve got family waiting on me.”
H is eyes flicker past me, to Germain—a silent order. “I don’t think so.”
I fight the cold fear that washes through me. “I do. Do you know who my—”
“Y our ex-step-father is?”
My mouth goes dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as I say, “Yes. That’s right. Mr. …what’s your name?”
He stands up and extends his hand across the table. “Robert. Robert Ryan.”
I lean over and shake it, because I’m moving on auto-pilot and I’m not sure what else to do. Why does that name sound so familiar?
“I’m the district attorney, Miss Mitchell. I’m here for a specific purpose, and I’m enlisting the
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