Chapter 49

ROSALIND

I twist and thrash within the wheelchair, my body aching to break free of the suffocating bandages. The metal frame beneath me creaks and groans under the strain, waking some of the other assassins, who fill the dudgeon with muffled cries.

They're asking me to rescue them, the way I burst through a window in Paris when Axel botched his mission. The way I once had to shoot a target in the back because Greta had been overpowered. The way I saved nearly all of them in the ten years I served as backup to less skilled operatives.

I strain against my restraints, even though the bandages cut deeper into my skin with each futile attempt.

If I wasn't gagged, I would scream with frustration. We could have worked together upstairs, broken through the zip-ties, overpowered those guards and escaped.

Now...

Now, I don't know what the hell will be our fate. Cesare set up this dungeon to look like one of Miranda's horror movies. Everyone is trying to fight their bonds, except Axel, who looks like he's barely clinging onto life.

That tender moment in the basement infirmary was bullshit. Cesare was only pissed because someone else got to damage his toy. The moment he considers me healed, he will resume his sick games.

When the other operatives stop struggling and stare at a point over my shoulder, I turn my head as far as the bandages allow. Two pieces of fabric on either side of my face restrict my vision like blinkers, so I can't see what's made them freeze.

But I sure as hell can guess.

I rock back and forth, needing to loosen something, anything. Sweat breaks out across my skin and soaks into the bandages, and my wound throbs in time with my thrashing heart.

"Don't strain yourself, pet." His large hands clamp on my shoulders, holding me still.

The warmth of his hands sears through the bandages, making me scream through my gag. Releasing me, he walks around my chair to look me full in the face.

"How have you been?" he asks, his voice echoing through the chamber.

I glance over his shoulder at the other operatives. Four of them watch with rapt attention. Axel just hangs his head.

Cesare grabs my chin. "Look at me and answer my question."

"Fuck you," I yell through the gag. With the ball pressing down on my tongue, the words only sound guttural.

He tilts his head, his eyes glinting with malice. "What's that, pet? Use your words."

I didn't think I could despise anyone more than my stepfather, but Cesare is getting close. He snaps on a pair of gloves, peels back the bandages from my face and inspects my bruises.

"Much better." He unscrews a jar, releasing the sharp scent of menthol.

I glance down to find it's some sort of ointment. Even though I know it's beneficial, I shake my head from side to side, not that Cesare will even give me the choice to refuse treatment.

"None of that," he says, as though speaking to a rebellious child. "This will help with your bruises. In a few days, no one will ever be able to tell that those men damaged your face."

That's the problem. I don't want to look untouched, because that's when Cesare will resume the torture. Only this time, it won't be orgasm denial. He'll probably remove something vital so I can never escape.

An icy burn spreads across my skin as he applies the ointment. I try to shrink away from his touch, but he holds my face.

"There," he says, his voice soft and sinister. "That wasn't so bad?"

He doesn't wait for my reply. Instead, he screws the jar shut and strides past the wheelchair, into the space between me and the other assassins hung on the X-shaped crosses.

"Welcome to the last weeks or months of your lives," he says. "You're here because each of you has been identified as members of the Moirai."

All of them shake their heads, save for Axel, whose looks like it might roll off his shoulders.

Cesare chuckles. "It's too late for denials. You all have the same spinning wheel tattoo on your hip. What is it, the wheel of fate?"

Branson's gaze snaps to me, his eyes shining with accusation. He was one of my colleagues who snickered when I was about to enter Gunther's office after escaping captivity.

Cesare spins around, his gaze narrowing. "Are you flirting with another of your boyfriends?"

I flinch. Branson? Is he fucking joking? Scowling, I shake my head.

He nods, seeming satisfied.

"Each of you will spend quality time with me, explaining the workings of the Moirai. I want to know the names of your leaders, their locations, and where to find your headquarters. I want the name of the person with the power to cancel contracts. Most importantly, I want the location of your client."

My breath shallows. We've all been taught never to speak out against the firm. Britt once joked that operatives without loved ones they can threaten get chips embedded under their skin or was it minor explosives? It sounded outlandish at the time but now it doesn't seem so far-fetched.

"Who will volunteer?" Cesare asks.

Everyone holds still. Nobody would dare betray the firm. At least not in front of witnesses.

He turns to me, his gaze sharpening. "How about you, pet?"

Swallowing around my gag, I glance around at the hanging operatives. As much as I want to nod, I also need to think about the future.

Miranda might be safely tucked away in that apartment, but she only has a month's worth of frozen groceries. If Britt is injured, or didn't survive, my poor girl could be trapped. That's why I need to cooperate with the Montesano brothers.

But Gunther might stage a rescue for six captive operatives. If Brittany survived, she could lead another team directly to this room. In that case, agreeing so readily to betray the firm will have deadly consequences.

I still my features, neither nodding nor shaking my head. After staring at Cesare for a few heartbeats, I lower my lashes, hoping he'll see that as a yes.

"Why did you shoot me in the chest?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

I stare into his sternum, trying to tune out a potential rant.

"Look at me, or I'll kill your boyfriend," he snaps.

I raise my lashes, my brow furrowing, which only makes Cesare's jaws tighten.

"Do you love him?" he asks, his nostrils flaring.

My gaze darts to Branson, and I shake my head.

"Not that one." Cesare strides over to where Axel hangs with his head bowed. "This tongueless bastard you fucked in Paris."

Eyes widening, I choke on the gag, which only makes Cesare laugh. The harsh sound echoes through the room, and every muscle in my bandaged body tenses.

"So, he was right. You're together."

I shake my head again, wondering what the hell possessed Axel to taunt this maniac about the time we had sex. Gunther would have told the team I was his hostage. Was it a misguided attempt to derail the interrogation from the attempt on Roman's life?

And what the hell does he mean by tongueless?

Cesare rushes at me with his teeth bared. "Do. Not. Lie. To. Me."

He reaches beneath the bandage wrapped around my hair and pulls out enough strands to make me wince. Before I can recover from the sharp pain, he twists the hairs to form a string.

"Have you ever heard of hair tourniquet syndrome?" he asks.

He's so casual about it. I stiffen, wondering what the fuck he's planning.

"No? It's when a strand of hair wraps around a body part so tightly that it cuts off the circulation," Cesare says with a nod.

My throat spasms.

"It can be quite painful. Imagine that body part turning red, then purple, then black because I wove your hair into a tiny noose."

Shudders ripple across my flesh, and I squeeze my eyes shut. That sadistic bastard wants to remove my toes so I can't escape.

"Look at me when I'm about to remove your boyfriend's cock," Cesare barks.

My eyes snap open to find him standing before Axel, winding my hair around the base of his penis. The blond man twitches within his bindings, too weak to put up a fight.

A noisy breath whistles through my nostrils, and I sputter around the gag. Is he serious? Of course he is, and I wouldn't be surprised if Cesare removed Axel's tongue.

He winds my hair tighter, tighter, tighter around Axel's penis until he convulses. I think he's having a fit or some kind of seizure. Cesare either doesn't notice or doesn't care because he's too busy glaring at me with those cruel eyes.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" he asks. "If you don't agree to give me the answers I want, I'll use the tourniquet to amputate your clit."