“The senior trust officer at your parents’ bank became a wealth of information with the proper incentive.”
She needed time to figure this out. And she’d have some. “There’s a waiting period and a residency requirement. It could take months to get married.”
“You’ve been living with me for the past year, according to my documents. And any other waiting periods can be waived.” Luc grinned.
He released her face, slapped her cheek gently, and walked toward the back bedroom. “I’m going to take a nap. Don’t embarrass yourself by screaming like a little girl. I don’t wish to disturb the pilots.”
Her cheeks throbbed from where he’d squeezed her cheeks into her molars. The ache in her shoulders cramped up, but Serge wouldn’t release her arms. Alex yawned, her body’s attempt to shut down from the fright and fatigue, and trying to appear as though their treatment of her didn’t matter. She shifted her shoulders to convince the idiot to free her. He wouldn’t.
Pascal approached her again. Standing to her side to avoid being kicked, he gripped her left leg with one hand. His other hand secured her knee. Her arms burned from their locked position and were no help. She tried to hit him with other leg, but only succeeded in flailing it around. Besides, he was too fast.
Like watching a car accident in slow motion, Alex’s body jerked back as Pascal stomped the full weight of his foot onto her shin. She could feel the break, feel the horrific pain spreading out from her leg to her whole body. Her lungs stopped functioning, her throat constricted, and she gasped for air. A second wave of pain shot through her, and her airways opened. With lungs filled to capacity, she screamed, loud and long. She must have stopped after she passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Henry’s cab traveled from Logan Airport through quaint New England towns filled with white steeple churches and grassy town commons to the Northrop family home in Concord, Massachusetts. He arrived a few minutes before 7:00 a.m. Dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and an untucked black dress shirt, he’d concealed Simon’s lethal present in his belt and thrown the rest of his Alex-approved wardrobe in his suitcase. During the flight, he’d stored the gun in his checked luggage. Simon conveniently provided all the documentation needed to carry a concealed weapon in all fifty states. He’d thank Simon later for taking care of him during the trip.
The Northrop estate, because it sure as hell wasn’t just a house, rivaled the grounds of Ripon Manor. The enormous colonial mansion stood on a hill overlooking the Concord River. Lights, still visible in the early morning, illuminated a path down the sloping lawn to the water. Alex’s mother never allowed her to have a hedge maze? Poor little rich girl. And he’d thought she’d grown up impoverished. She must have been hysterical thinking about his lectures on social graces. No wonder she fit in. She wasn’t acting as a wealthy heiress. She was a wealthy heiress.
He paid the driver and took his suitcases. He’d call for a ride back to the airport after he’d spoken to Mr. Northrop and, hopefully, located Alex.
When he knocked, a security guard dressed head to toe in black opened the door, stepped out, and shut the door firmly behind him. The same height as Henry, the guy puffed out his chest and sucked in his cheeks as though the presence of any guest before eight in the morning could get him and the guest terminated.
“Can I help you?”
Henry smiled to lighten the mood. “I’m looking for Alex Northrop.”
“Alex?” His eyebrows furrowed.
“Yes. Is she here presently?”
The guy’s eyes sighted on the bulge near Henry’s hip where he’d holstered the gun. He should have left it in his suitcase.
Henry reached to take it out to hand to the guard. “I can…”
“Hands up.” The guard grabbed Henry’s arm, twisted him around, and shoved his face into the wall. Pain exploded near his jaw. He tasted the metallic tang of the asshole’s aggressive tactics. Henry pushed back and forced the guard slightly off balance.
As Henry struggled to get free, he grabbed as much of his aggressor’s hair as he could and slammed him into the wall beside him. He dodged the bloke’s attempt to pummel him away. Without letting go of his hair, Henry forced the guy to the ground face-first and wedged his knee into the base of his spine. Pulling out the gun that had started this confrontation, he aimed it directly behind the guard’s ear.
“What the hell was that for?” His breathing was still heavy as he regained control.
Before three seconds passed, two guns punched into the back of his head from two new security guards.
“Drop it now,” one of them called out.
Henry held steady for a moment. He’d seriously misjudged the security at the Northrop house.
“Drop it.” Someone shoved a gun into his head again. The barrel dug into his scalp. If he didn’t turn up dead, he’d be sore for a week.
Henry loosened the grip on the gun. A large hand pulled it away from him. Another hand took the form of a large rock and connected with his cheek, shoving him against the house. The impact hammered through his face and his ear. Henry’s lip was bleeding, and the back of his head stung.
Guard number one, now on his feet, kicked Henry in the gut. Every last bit of air was punched from his lungs, and the ache radiated through one of his ribs. It didn’t feel broken; he’d already experienced that several times in his life and would never forget that sharp unrelenting pain.
He remained on the ground like a scarecrow that had been ransacked by crows with a vendetta. One of the guards was on the phone while the other two stood over him, guns locked, loaded, and begging for an excuse to kill him. The guard who had started the incident had blood dripping down his chin. Henry couldn’t feel sympathy for the blighter.