Chapter 6 - The Turn of the Key|
Vincent blocked the narrow aisle completely. Fay stopped, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as panic threatened to choke her.
"Sir," she whispered.
Vincent slowly placed his glass of ice water on the stainless-steel counter behind him. He said nothing. He looked past her toward the kitchen entryway, then turned and walked toward the heavy double doors.
Fay held her breath as he passed her, catching the faint scent of expensive cedar, cold night air, and gun oil.
He reached the heavy kitchen doors and reached out.
Click.
He turned the solid deadbolt lock. The sharp metallic sound echoed off the industrial surfaces like a gunshot.
Fay’s stomach dropped into a bottomless abyss. Trapped inside the locked kitchen with the head of the syndicate, her mind raced through every horrifying scenario.
Vincent turned around slowly and walked back toward her. He didn't stop until he was standing directly in front of her. Without a word, he reached out and gently tipped her chin upward with his long fingers.
Fay flinched, but his touch was shockingly light.
He turned her head toward the overhead fluorescent light, exposing the dark, ugly violet bruises marring her soft skin. His dark eyes narrowed into thin slits of ice. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant.
"Who did this to you, Fay?" he asked, his voice low and deadly smooth.
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Fay swallowed hard, her pulse racing violently. "It was an accident, Mr. Cross. I fell—"
"Do not lie to me," Vincent interrupted quietly, his eyes holding hers in a vice grip. "A fall does not leave four distinct finger marks on a woman's jaw. Give me a name."
