Dusk (Dangerous Web #1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,36

simply was what it was.

I blinked again.

The illumination shone directly at me, making whatever was beyond difficult to see.

A man came into view, dark hair, a rigid clean-shaven jaw, nondescript eyes, and a towering presence. The mere fact he was not trying to hide his identity frightened me more than the menacing way he looked at me or the knowledge that he’d recently struck me. My instincts told me to look away to shield myself.

I didn’t.

Defiantly, I lifted my chin as blood and saliva dripped from my gagged lips onto my shirt.

I looked from him to a woman who had stepped into my line of sight.

With blonde hair starkly pulled away from her face and slacks and a blouse that seemed out of place, it was clear this was the woman in charge. This was her show. Her frame may not have been large; her petite body and athletic build looked much like mine. Yet it wasn’t her stature that illustrated her power; it was the venom displayed in her gaze and the determination in her expression. “It’s about time you woke. I really am losing my patience with the likes of you.”

The unflattering hairstyle wasn’t what held my attention. It was the skin on the left side of her face. The surface appeared bumpy in a familiar way, reminding me of Mason’s beneath his tattoos.

Prying my gaze away, I squinted my eyes and peered beyond the two individuals to the room around us. No longer were we in the cell I’d shared with Araneae. This room was different, unremarkable. The walls were the same cement-block motif. However, where the cell’s walls were white, this room was gray with gray. We were within a gray box with a high ceiling.

Near the door was a large mirror, one that was most likely a one-way window. Set up a few feet away was a large light within a silver casing, shining my way. It hadn’t been the sun I’d felt, but artificial light turned on high. The design of the room reminded me of an interrogation room on a television show or movie. There was even a small rectangular table with three chairs.

Only three.

I was in the fourth.

It was no longer placed at the table, but out into the room.

Uselessly, I pulled against my restraints.

As the woman walked closer, her shoes clipped on the hard surface floor. With a tug she pulled the gag from my lips. For a brief moment I wondered if it was my blindfold from before. However, there were more pressing concerns.

As her nondescript gray eyes met mine, I bravely asked, “Where is my friend?”

She shook her head. “No longer your concern.”

“Wait...what does that mean?”

The woman’s voice grew softer, unnaturally sweetened and dripping with sickening syrup. Her head tilted in mock sympathy. “Your earlier display of concern was admirable.”

I tried to remember. Araneae was brought back to our cell, but she wasn’t speaking, wasn’t moving. “She’s my friend.”

The woman’s lips curled upward. “Aww. That’s...sweet. Unfortunately, she wasn’t mine.” She shrugged. “And quite honestly, she was of no use to me.”

“So what did you do? Where is she?” My questions came quicker. “Do you know who she is? Her husband would pay—”

The next sequence of events all happened quicker than I could predict.

The woman’s nod to the man.

The man’s slap to my face.

The force at which my head turned.

The tears, the blood.

They were a physical reaction to the pain, not emotional.

My tears for Araneae would wait.

My attention was on the here and now.

“Where is she?” I yelled.

“My patience,” the woman began as she walked back and forth before me, “ran out on her.” Her gaze came back to me. “That doesn’t leave much for you. While I’m not out to make enemies of her husband or yours, they’re inconsequential and” —she shrugged— “I don’t really give a damn.”

This woman knew Sterling Sparrow’s identity and regarded it as inconsequential?

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Your friend asked the same question. I had hoped you would be more original.”

“Tell me she’s all right.”

The woman came closer and leaned down until we were eye to eye. “Is that all it would take, Lorna Pierce, for me to tell you? Would you believe me?” She stood with a grin.

Lorna Pierce, my maiden name.

My gaze went from the woman to the man. He was now standing behind her, his arms crossed over his chest in a silent demonstration of strength. I looked back at her.

“No,” I replied. “I don’t believe a damn word you say.”

“You’d better