Chapter 3

Jax stared at my face for a full thirty seconds, his expression shifting from scrutiny to something ancient and unsettling.

"Uncanny. Damn uncanny," he muttered.

He reached out, his rough finger grazing my cheek. "She's practically identical to the woman in the photos."

My body went rigid. I managed to squeeze out a sound. "Are you Jax? I'm..."

Smack!

Another slap, harder than Brandon's.

My head snapped to the side, blood oozing from the corner of my mouth.

"Who told you my name?" Jax grabbed a handful of my hair, forcing me to look at him.

"You're just merchandise for debt, trying to pull rank on your grandpappy?"

"No, I really am..."

"Shut up!" He clamped a hand around my neck. "Say one more word, and I'll rip out your tongue."

Suffocation gripped me. I clawed at his hand, but it was to no avail.

The Millers stood frozen nearby, barely daring to breathe, fawning over Jax.

"Jax, sir, what about... Mr. Thorne?" Frank tentatively asked.

"Mr. Thorne is upstairs handling some business. He sent me down to check first."

Jax released me and stood up. "But I don't think this girl is very cooperative."

He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a drag, then crouched down and flicked the ash onto my face.

"It's your good fortune that you look like someone Mr. Thorne admired, but don't think you can get away with anything just because of that face."

He pinched my chin. "Mr. Thorne hates it when people try to exploit his personal connections. You'd better know your place."

I coughed violently, tears streaming down my face. "I really am... I'm Victor's niece, please believe me..."

"Still spewing nonsense!" Jax roared in fury, kicking me hard in the stomach.

I curled up in pain, felt like my organs were shifting.

"Do you really think I wouldn't know if Mr. Thorne had any siblings? Where would a niece come from?"

Jax sneered. "What lies won't you spin just to climb the ladder?"

He gestured to a subordinate. "Bring the liquor."

A subordinate immediately handed him a bottle of vodka.

Jax twisted off the cap, grabbed my chin, and started pouring it down my throat.

The harsh liquor burned its way down my throat. I choked, my face flushing scarlet, alcohol streaming from my mouth, down my neck and soaking my clothes.

"Drink it! Finish it!" Jax's expression was distorted.

"If Mr. Thorne comes and you dare to throw it up, I'll throw you into the deepest, darkest pits of our operations and let every one of the guys have their fill!"

He only released me after half the bottle was gone.

I lay on the floor, dry-heaving, my throat burning. My vocal cords felt shredded, unable to form a complete sound.

Brandon looked uneasy. "Jax, sir, if Mr. Thorne comes and she can't speak..."

"Better if she can't speak," Jax glanced at him. "Save her from talking nonsense."

He crouched down again, grabbing my right hand. "Pretty fingers, huh?"

I stared at him in horror.

"What a shame."

He sneered, then suddenly twisted with force.

Crack!

"AH!" My bloodcurdling scream echoed through the entire parlor.

My index finger bent at an unnatural angle. The excruciating pain made my vision go black.

"That's just one," Jax said, his tone light. "If you don't behave, I'll break all ten of your fingers."

I convulsed in pain, tears and snot blurring my face.

"Mr. Thorne is here!" A subordinate at the door suddenly announced.

Jax immediately stood up, straightened his suit, and adopted a respectful expression.

The Millers also quickly stood at attention, heads bowed, not daring to look around.

The door opened.

A tall figure walked in, dressed in a black coat, with cold and severe eyes, radiating an aura that screamed 'keep your distance'.

It was my uncle, Victor.

He scanned the parlor, his brows immediately furrowing. "What's going on? It's a mess."

Jax quickly stepped forward. "Mr. Thorne, these people came to settle a debt, and they brought a woman."

"I told you, don't bring just anyone here," Victor's voice was icy. "Clean it up."

He said, then turned to leave.

No! Don't go!

I used all my strength to push myself up, but my legs failed and I fell back to the floor, still unable to make a sound.

My uncle's footsteps didn't falter.

In desperation, I tore off the necklace my mother left me, the one around my neck.

Then, with my working left hand, I threw it hard at Victor's feet.

The metal struck the marble floor with a sharp clink.

Victor's footsteps halted.

He looked down, his gaze moving from the necklace on the floor to my bruised, tear-streaked face.

His pupils constricted sharply.