Desolation Road (Torpedo Ink 4) - Page 165

She stood up and turned her back on him, moving gracefully through the bikers. Not just gracefully, Holden decided, but regally. In spite of the fact that he hated her, loathed her, despised her with every breath he took, he knew she had somehow bested him again. It made no sense because she was nothing. Absolutely nothing, and yet she was walking away, dismissing him, not even delivering the last blow, as if he wasn’t even worth that much.

Robert Holden Sr. wanted to scream at her to come back, to shoot him, to torture him, to do something, but the bikers were filing out after her. All but one. All but her husband, who had looped something thin and sinister around his neck and was slowly tightening it to the point that he couldn’t breathe.

Absinthe leaned down so that his warm breath was in Holden’s ear, almost soothing the pounding of his wild, erratic heartbeat. “I’m not quite as nice as she is. You put a contract out on my wife, you worthless son of a bitch. She single-handedly killed that pussy son of yours and his little pissant friends. You did it because she bested you. And you couldn’t take it.”

As he spoke, that voice nearly gentle, mild, even soothing, the noose tightened by slow increments, cutting off Holden’s air supply so that his body began to thrash in protest. It didn’t matter. The man behind him was too strong. Without mercy.

“The contract on your wife has been called off. She won’t inherit your money because you’re penniless. Your money now belongs to my wife and is completely untraceable. The cash you kept hidden belongs to Torpedo Ink and Scarlet, but your woman gets all those properties you purchased on your own and hid from her so you could have your fun with other women, and of course, your life insurance policy.”

The noose continued to tighten slowly, relentlessly. Holden’s heels drummed on the floor, spilling blood from the deep cuts from the crystal glasses he’d deliberately shattered against his fireplace and then carelessly stepped on.

“Scarlet will live a happy, full life. Everyone will know what lousy, filthy human beings you and your son were. They’ll know how you manipulated the courts to convict a young teen after your son and his friends tried to rape her and that you knew they had but because she defended herself, you wanted her in prison. They’ll know how your son and his friends gang-raped her sister, driving that child to suicide, and even then you defended him and tried to keep Scarlet in prison. No one will ever want to be associated with your name. And Scarlet? She’ll be happy. Living her life.”

There was pain, anguish, a terrible raw burning in his lungs, but no strength in his arms when he tried to lift them to pry the deadly noose from his throat. It just cut deeper and deeper until the blackness took over and he couldn’t see or breathe and the world around him faded and was gone.

Transporter will take you and Scarlet back, Absinthe. Move it fast. The others will set the stage for the cops, Czar ordered. The moment that any one of these bodies are found, the cops will come knocking on your door and you’d better be home and in bed looking like honeymooners.Absinthe considered that they were very lucky for a variety of reasons. Transporter handled the Viper like a race car, shaving significant time from the three and a half hours it would take the majority of people to make the drive in the middle of the night with no traffic. One of his gifts, which Absinthe could never quite figure out, was how Transporter managed to know when they were coming up on cop, or when one was in the vicinity at all. He seemed to be a human radar detector. He always slowed and obeyed all traffic laws.

Transporter delivered the two of them to their front door and with a wave was gone, leaving Absinthe alone with Scarlet, and he immediately lifted her into his arms and carried her over the threshold, nuzzling her throat. “Should have done this that first night, baby. Don’t want evil demons following us around anymore. We’ve had our share.”

She settled her arms around his neck. “Yes, we have.”

“Clothes off,” he ordered, nibbling on her neck.

She unbuttoned her blouse and he carried her through the house, peeling off her clothes as she unfastened them, leaving a trail to the back deck where the hot tub was. She was naked by the time he got her there. Naked and laughing. He loved her laugh. Loved the way her eyes lit up. The moonlight spilled down on her red hair, turning it into a blaze of fire. She already had the silken mass piled on top of her head, twisted into some kind of knot.

Tags: Christine Feehan Torpedo Ink Romance
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