Equal Parts by Emma Winters Read Free Book Online Page B

features. He had that familiar, eerie glow to him – the superhuman glow.
    This man was a whole different ball game than my captor.
    “Hello, Felicity,” he said, his voice far too smooth to be human.
    “Where’s Achilles?” I asked casually. Behind my back, I gripped the rice bowl from lunch, ready to throw it at his head if need be.
    It had been so long since I’d looked at a normal person, I’d almost forgotten what eyes looked like without consuming black contact lenses and face-paint. This man’s brown eyes flared with something just as menacing as his aura, and I got the distinct impression he knew everything about me from just one glance.
    “I’m afraid he couldn’t make it this afternoon, so he asked me to pay you a visit. And charming as your little cell is,” he said, in a low voice, “I think we’d best move this to a more private location.”
    What the hell did that mean? Was I leaving the cell permanently?
    I didn’t get time to think about it, though, before yet another thug appeared before me with a pair of ropes and a blindfold.
    “I’m not moving,” I snarled, counting down the seconds before I made a run for it. Achilles never gave me an inch of room to escape, but this guy had – so I was planning on taking a whole mile.
    Tutting, the suited man came to stand beside the thug, so the pair of them towered over me. “After what Achilles said of you, I expected a little more cooperation, Miss Eastwood.”
    Right as the thug reached for me, I smashed the bowl into his face. He staggered backwards, giving me enough space to kick out at the suit man and make a lunge for the door. To my credit, I got out into the corridor before yet another thug – where did they keep coming from? – tackled me into the wall. My head, still tender from the attack days ago, swam with the force of the contact.
    “That’s more like it. I do like fighters,” commented the smooth voice from behind me.
    Taking advantage of my momentary dizziness, the thug pounced, roping my wrists together tight enough to rub my skin raw, then did the same with my ankles, tying the binds into shackles. I tried to shoulder the thug with the blindfold away from me, but instead ended up careening into the wall once more. The suited man’s laughter made my blood boil.
    “Leave the blindfold off,” he told his henchmen, smirking at me. “But gag her anyway. I have a feeling this one’s a screamer.”
    Oh God. The sickness that should have hit me with Achilles’s appearance four … no, five days ago struck me with those words. I’d known torture was on the cards with Achilles; he made no secret of his violent streak. But this man – a man who, in the real world, could have easily passed as a politician or lawyer – scared me much more than the man dressed as Death himself.
    I tried very hard not to panic as they tied the blindfold over my mouth and led me down the corridor, to another door at its end.
    The smell of blood and fear hit me head-on as we entered the last room. Like my cell, it was made entirely from cement and stone, but it was much bigger, with a mirror on the far wall that was obviously an observation window. In the middle sat a table stained with dark red splotches, a lamp, and two chairs.
    “Put her there,” said the suited man, gesturing to one of the chairs. I was all but thrown into it. “No one is to disturb us, understand? Not even Achilles. Don’t want him finding out I’ve stolen his little pet, after all.”
    Double crap. Achilles had no idea I was with this guy, then. Why did that fact in itself fill me with dread?
    The door scraped closed with a heavy bang , and then we were alone. My heart broke into a sprint as he took up the seat across the table from me.
    I was in trouble. Big trouble.
    “How rude, I haven’t even introduced myself,” he said with a charming smile. My stomach flip-flopped, and not in a good way. “My name is Patrick Molten. I work for Achilles as his … well, his