He expected to wake up in a filthy warehouse surrounded by rough-looking men. Instead, his blurry vision met vaulted ceilings, expensive pine furniture, and four wealthy men staring at him as if he were a particularly disgusting piece of roadkill.
His dark eyes finally locked onto the man sitting in the center of the room.
Damien was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. He was staring at the Viper boss with a gaze so devoid of human empathy that it sent an icy shiver down the Frenchman's spine.
"Who took her?" Damien asked, his voice quiet, but firm.
The French boss swallowed hard, tasting copper. He tried to shift his arms, but the zip-ties held him firmly against the chair. He looked at the suits, the relaxed postures of the men surrounding him. They were just rich boys playing gangster.
The man let out a laugh, spitting a streak of blood onto his own chin.
