Connor looked around, confused. They were in a large kitchen. Cupboards lined the wall and there was a large wooden dining table in the middle. Where were they? It felt like they had gone north. Bryanston, Fourways maybe?
He looked around the faces. Justin, Noecker, three men standing he didn’t recognize, a woman seated at the head of the table, Gertie and Francina.
Impulse made him reach for Francina. Years of bottled up rage fuelled by captivity and the occasional brandydrink binge, sparked the fury he had been carrying inside of him.
Justin smacked him down with the butt of his gun before he reached her. Connor fell to his knees and felt the warmth of the blood trickle down the side of his nose.
“No, no, Connaught.” Noecker was unmoved, motionless. Gun still trained on Connor.
“Whatever past you and Francina might have had needs to be put behind you, and fast. I have no problem putting a hole straight through where your heart used to be. Or maybe I should blow your arm off first, just for fun.”
“Do it then.” Connor got to his feet. “Send me to hell, because I’m sure it’s better than whatever the fuck is going on here.”
“He always was so dramatic,” Francina drawled. “Clueless and dramatic. But useful in his own way.”
Was she talking about sex? The sex was great. The worst part was … well, basically everything else.
“Do you even know what’s going on?” Francina taunted.
The years had been good to her. Connor could see under the bullet-proof vest she still had a great figure. A few smile lines marked her face now, but that was nothing a paper bag wouldn’t resolve.
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