Steel and Seduction

Chapter three

Blood-tinged water flowed down the shower drain. Snow had lost control with Henry Grayson, and rightfully so. The early morning light stretched across the horizon as he stepped out of the shower.

He wiped his hand over the mirror, clearing the fog, his bloodshot eyes glaring back at him.

Trying to shake off the heaviness in his eyes, he dressed slowly. This wasn’t the first time he’d gone without sleep. It wasn’t even the first time Henry Grayson had kept him awake.

The nights in the hospital had been the hardest. After being dragged from Henry’s wrecked car, broken and bloodied, he’d been rushed to the hospital in a screaming ambulance, protesting his innocence all the way.

When he woke up again, he found himself guarded by a police officer, who informed him he was arrested for causing death by reckless driving while under the influence of alcohol or drugs. Vincent’s death. His best friend. The words that tore his life apart.

Instead of focusing on grief and finding a way to regain his independence, Snow had been locked away.

He spent his first year in the prison’s medical wing, surrounded by dying criminals and the constant hum of medical machines.

At 18, still barely a man.

Through the one-way mirror, Snow observed Karina intently.

She had curled herself into a tight ball in her sleep.

He shouldn’t have visited her last night. That had been a mistake. The bookkeeper. She was the damn bookkeeper.

Karina had never come up in his investigation of Charlton’s Gentlemen’s Club. No sign of her there, no trace on the security footage.

None of the employees had heard of her. Snow had assumed, with her father’s life falling apart, that Karina had simply left and found peace elsewhere. He never expected her to be as tainted as Henry.

“Please, Henry. Don’t do this! Please!”

Snow's desperate plea echoed in his mind, just as vividly as the day he had spoken those words, struggling to free himself from the twisted wreckage.

The day he had been released, Snow had promised himself he would never be that vulnerable again.

He stepped into the hallway, nearly colliding with Jane. The short, stout housekeeper ran the household with a firm, no-nonsense attitude.

“You need to get those looked at,” Jane remarked, frowning as she gestured to his bruised hands. “They’ll be swollen and purple by this evening.”

Snow casually glanced at his split knuckles. She was right, but he waved it off. “I’ll be fine.”

Jane placed a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow. “Dare I ask what happened?”

“It was in the cellars,” he answered, aware that Storm was probably setting up the pressure washer by now. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“I hope that’s true,” she warned. “Does that girl in your room need food?”

Karina. His nostrils flared as memories of the previous night flooded back... The moment she had pressed her body against his, holding him tightly, he’d lost control.

His kitten. Where had the sweet girl he once knew gone? Replaced by a wild creature.

“No.” After what she had done, she could go without.

Snow didn’t bother knocking. He barged through the bedroom door, forcing it open against the chair Karina had wedged beneath the handle to block him.

The screech of the chair's legs on the floor grated on his nerves.

Karina shot to her feet, standing before him in the same rumpled clothes from the night before.

“Snow,” she said, her lips drawn tight.

Without sparing a word or glance, he gripped her wrist tightly and yanked her out of the room, disregarding the effect she had on him. Ignoring the overwhelming urge to lock the door behind them and trace every inch of her skin with his lips.

“Wait,” she pleaded. “Please, Snow. You’re hurting me.”

He didn’t look back as he dragged her down the narrow back stairwell, a pristine white passage leading them straight to the cellars.

"Where are you taking me?" Her voice bounced off the cavernous walls. "Snow," she gasped, struggling to keep pace as he ascended another flight of stairs. "I can't keep up."

And yet, she did.

Finally, he pressed his thumb to the scanner on the cellar door and pulled her inside. They entered a long hallway lined with heavy doors, each one marked with its own fingerprint scanner.

With a sinister smile, he guided her into the room where her father had recently been. A large pool of blood stained the floor, thickening into a dark, red mess.

Handprints in crimson were smeared around the room, and droplets of blood were scattered across the space, as if thrown by an unseen hand.

"Whose blood is that?" Karina's voice trembled as she stepped away from him, clutching her wrist.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the small table and chairs in the corner.

Karina moved cautiously around the room, making sure to avoid the blood-soaked patches on the floor, her eyes wide as she reached the table, her gaze betraying her unease.

Snow’s grin was slow and lazy. "Are you afraid, kitten?"

"Why are you doing this, Snow?" She finally tore her gaze from the blood, wrapping her arms around herself as she sat down.

He took the seat across from her, leaning in as he set a file filled with the same documents he had shown to Henry on the table. "Because I can."

Because I deserve to.

"Where is Edward Vale?" He demanded, his gaze pinning her to the chair with a weight of cold authority.

"I don't know who that is." Her eyes widened as they finally landed on his battered hands. "What happened to you?"

He kept his expression unreadable, a neutral mask. "What do you think happened?"

"Have you killed my father?" she whispered, her breath barely a sound. The words trembled as they escaped. "Is that his blood? Is he dead?"

"Your father is alive," he replied, his tone even. Relief flickered across her face.

"For now."

The relief vanished, replaced by a sudden tightness in her expression. "What do you mean?"

"If you answer my questions, it stays that way. Right now, he still has all his fingers, toes, and other things I'm sure he's rather fond of. But if you lie to me, I'll start taking them. You'll watch. Then, I'll begin with you. Understand?"

"Yes," she squeaked, her face drained of color.

"Good," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Now, Edward Vale. Where is he?"

"I don't know! I don't know who that is."

For f**k's sake. Even Henry hadn’t known. "What exactly is your role in your father's club?"

"I'm the bookkeeper," Karina glanced at the bloodstained room before continuing. "I handle invoices, make sure employees get paid, manage social media, and deal with Dad's debts. Or at least, I try to. I also pay out winnings and manage the company’s financial records. Um..." She took a shaky breath. "I file the company’s tax returns! Just general bookkeeping duties."

"Where are the company’s financial records kept?"

"On my laptop. On the desktop."

Snow nodded. That matched what Henry had said. "Is it password-protected?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice trembling. "The password is Vincent01121989 in brackets. With a capital V"

Good. Henry hadn't been able to provide that detail. Storm's team had already cracked it, but it was reassuring to know she was at least being honest so far.

"And where is the laptop?"

"In the leather pouffe in the living room."

Another honest response. Snow's phone buzzed, and he checked the message from Zya about an upcoming board meeting. That could wait. He then pulled the box file toward him, ready to lay out what he’d collected. He removed the first photograph.

It was a blurry image from the security cameras at Charlton's Gentlemen's Club—cheap, low-quality cameras, courtesy of Henry Grayson. "Tell me about this man."

Karina slid the photo toward her and examined it closely. "I don’t know him."

He tried another one, with the same result. A different man, but involved in the same crime as the first.

"I don’t know him. I’m sorry, Snow."

The third photo was of a woman, clad in nothing but a terrified expression. Black bars had been placed across her modesty.

"She looks terrified," Karina commented, her brows furrowing in concern. "Is that a bruise on her cheek?"

"You tell me," Snow responded quietly. She was the one handling the transactions, after all. Or perhaps she preferred not to confront the evidence of her bookkeeping.

He pulled out the next three photos. Each one was of a naked woman, all appearing disheveled.

Karina’s eyes widened in shock. "These were all taken at my father's club?"

He didn’t respond. They both knew the truth. Instead, he slid four photocopies of the club’s ledger pages onto the table, placing each one above the corresponding photo of the women.

"What was it you said?" he asked, his voice cool. "You handle the company’s financial records, yet you don’t recognize these women?"

"Why would the two be connected?"

His eyebrow lifted in response, and he began laying out the most disturbing images one by one, disregarding Karina’s false gasps of horror. By the time he was done, the photos were overlapping.

"Look," he ordered, standing up and gripping the back of her neck, forcing her face toward the pictures. "Don’t even think about looking away."

She met his gaze, her eyes filled with anguish, her lips curling in disgust. "Why are you showing me these?"

"Because I want you to see what you’ve helped make happen. Do these look like women who consented to this?"

Karina shook her head, a choked sob escaping her as she recognized a familiar face. "Is that my father?"

"Yes, kitten. That’s your father." He’d concealed the identities of the women, but not the men.

She pushed the photo away violently, as though it had burned her. "I didn’t know he..." her voice trailed off.

"What? Partook in the goods?" Snow asked sharply.

"The goods?"

"Was that not what you recorded them as in the ledgers?" he bit out, savoring her discomfort as he watched her throat constrict and her skin turn a sickly grey. "Should I check again?"

Karina staggered to her feet, her body shaking uncontrollably before she vomited, the sickening sound echoing as it splattered across the cold, sterile room. It landed with a sickening wetness on the coagulated blood left behind by her father.

Each painful heave wracked her body until, exhausted, she finally collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Snow was hit with an unsettling thought. During his interrogation, Henry had painted Karina as an accomplice.

A partner in crime. He’d claimed she was involved at every step. As his bookkeeper, Karina was supposed to know everything about the business—every woman trafficked, every crime committed.

What if he's trying to blame Karina for the human trafficking the same way he tried to blame me for Vincent's death?

No one had believed Snow when he protested his innocence. And Karina...

What if I’m repeating the same mistake they made?

Shit.

Snow shrugged off his jacket and gently draped it over her shoulders.

"Come on," he murmured, lifting her into his arms.

"What are you—?" She tensed when he picked her up, clutching his neck as though expecting him to throw her into the grimy puddle in the middle of the room. "No, no, no!"

"Shh. It’s alright. I’ve got you."

Her body trembled with another sob, but she stayed silent as he carried her back upstairs.

When the lift doors opened, her gaze flicked to him, her mind likely racing with questions about where they were headed, but her shock was evident when the doors pinged open to reveal the bedroom corridor.

As they walked, Storm came into view, stopping abruptly when he saw them. A thick folder was tucked under his arm.

"Stone?" he muttered uncertainty, tilting his head.

"Tell Jane to send breakfast up to my room. A proper one."

Storm gave a short nod and left, casting a glance at Karina as he passed.

With a sigh, Snow entered the bedroom, still holding Karina, who sniffled softly in his arms, heading straight for the rarely-used en-suite.

He gently set her on the marble counter in the bathroom, turning on the shower before hanging a soft, midnight blue towel on the hook beside it.

As he looked at Karina, her face still streaked with tears, her legs dangling off the counter, an old instinct stirred within him.

The urge to gather her in his arms and shield her from the world resurfaced with a force he hadn’t felt in years. Snow clenched his jaw.

But those instincts didn’t fit anymore. Her problems couldn’t be solved with a trip to the park or a stop at the ice cream truck.

"You didn’t know," he said softly, brushing away her tears just as he had done so many times before.

A rush of nostalgia hit him, memories flooding his mind of the week he’d taught her to ride a bike, how he’d always been there to comfort her. Karina flinched away, her gaze fixed on the floor.

It wasn’t a question, but Karina still shook her head. "I didn’t know."

"Shower," he instructed, tugging gently at the worn sleeve of her shirt.

"I’ll get you clean clothes," he added. Opening the cupboard beneath the sink, he pulled out a wicker basket filled with toiletries. "Take what you need. You’ll feel better after a shower... and some food."

She barely moved, but it looked like she nodded.

He was about to close the bathroom door when her voice, barely a whisper, stopped him.

"Snow?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to kill my father?"

He replied honestly. "Eventually."

Karina’s gaze remained distant, her focus lost in the space ahead of her. "Okay."