I’m halfway down the hallway when one of the guards jogs toward me.
“Ma’am.”
I stop.
“He’s asking for you.”
My jaw tightens. “Matteo?”
The guard nods. “Says he has something important to discuss.”
“Of course he does.”
Behind me, a voice cuts in.
“She’s not going alone.”
Ryker.
The basement feels different this time.
Quieter.
More suffocating.
Matteo is sitting where they left him. Hands bound. Bruised. Hungry. Hood gone.
He looks worse.
But when he sees me?
He smiles.
That same oily, self-satisfied smile.
“There she is,” he says, voice hoarse but amused. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
“I am not scared of trash,” I reply evenly.
His dark eyes rake over me slowly. “Still sharp mouthed. I always liked that about you.”
Ryker steps slightly closer to my sho
