Stripped (The Watch Book 1) by Finley Brown

Author:Finley Brown [Brown, Finley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blushing Books Publications
Published: 2021-05-05T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 23

They covered her head in a cloth sack, so the only things visible were light and dark shadows, making it impossible to tell where they were taking her. However, she recognized the sensation as an elevator went up and concluded at least she hadn't left the building. She was led down what she assumed was a hallway and through a door, to where she was deposited in a chair. The covering was removed, and she found herself sitting at a table. A crystal decanter of wine and two glasses were the only thing on it.

A man entered, wearing a white dinner jacket. He adjusted his black bow tie as he sat down. His features were crisp and clean, deceiving to his advanced age, which was noted in the spots and wrinkles on his hands. With a baldhead, straight nose, tight goatee and cunning hazel eyes, there was an air to him that reminded Pim of her grandfather. He sat down, crossing his legs elegantly, and set an old-fashioned gold lighter on the table, flipping open the lid. Pim clasped her hands under the table, anchoring herself in reality. The man's presence didn't match the squalor of the room or the situation, creating a schism in her mind. She needed to remain present. He pulled out a cigarette case, offering one to Pim. She shook her head. His hand hovering above the lighter, he snapped his fingers, and a flame magically shot to life, and picking it up, he lit his cigarette. "Illusions, they distort our senses, misleading our brains. We think we know something when we really don't. Then, of course, there are delusions. Especially those of grandeur when one has a false belief about one's greatness or skill. Most people make the mistake of calling them illusions of grandeur, but they're delusions." He took a deep pull on the cigarette, the tip lighting up bright orange as he studied her. "Primrose McNeil," he said as he exhaled. His speech was refined, as he exquisitely emphasized her name. Though Pim could still detect the slight Russian accent, he seemed to work hard to hide it.

She didn't answer him.

"Will you have some wine?" He didn't wait for a response but poured them each a glass, the color such a deep red, it verged on black. "Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac 2010, excellent vintage."

She continued to stare at him, her heart beating so fast in her chest, she thought it would start skipping as the dull ache in her stomach intensified.

"I'm afraid I insist you join me in a toast. I promise you it's not drugged." He picked up his glass, waiting for her to do the same. Her hand shook as she raised hers. "Behind every beautiful thing, there's some kind of pain." His eyes narrowed as he spoke. "Slange."

"Slange," she repeated. The words of her tattoo resounded in her mind as she set the glass down. Words that had so much meaning to her she'd had them permanently etched on her back, now perversely being used against her.

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