The pressure on her windpipe was immediate and terrifying.
Gina's vision blurred at the edges. Brandon's grip was iron, his thumb pressing against her larynx with calculated lethality. He wasn't playing. He was going to kill her.
"Give me one reason not to snap your neck right now, Mrs. Burris," Brandon growled. His face was inches from hers, his eyes burning with a cold, blue fire. "You know too much."
Gina didn't claw at his hands. She didn't struggle. That's what a victim would do.
She forced her chin up, exposing her neck further to his grip. She stared directly into his eyes, communicating a desperate, insane courage.
"Because..." she rasped, the word barely squeezing past the blockage in her throat. "Because I can get you Hansford's encrypted ledger."
Brandon's grip didn't loosen, but his thumb stopped pressing down. The intent in his eyes shifted from murder to assessment.
"You're lying," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Hansford is too paranoid to keep physical records."
"He keeps a black notebook," Gina wheezed. "In the wall safe behind the oil painting in his study. I know the cipher logic he uses for the combination. It changes based on the stock market closing numbers."
Brandon stared at her for a long, agonizing second. Then, he released her.
Gina collapsed back onto her heels, gasping for air. She coughed, rubbing the red marks already forming on her skin. The pain was grounding. It meant she was still in the game.
"Why?" Brandon asked. He didn't move from his wheelchair, but the threat of violence still hung around him like a shroud. "Why betray your husband?"
Gina looked up, her eyes wet with tears of physical pain, but her expression was stone cold.
"I want him dead," she said. "Just as much as you do."
Brandon tilted his head. A slow, dark smile touched the corner of his mouth. It wasn't a nice smile. "Well. The rabbit has teeth."
"I'm not a rabbit," Gina said, standing up on shaky legs. She took a step toward him, holding out her hands. "Check me. Hansford thinks I'm a sacrifice. He didn't wire me."
Brandon didn't hesitate. He reached out, his hands moving over her body with professional, invasive efficiency. He checked her waist, the lining of her robe, her hair. It wasn't sexual. It was a security sweep.
"Clean," he muttered.
Suddenly, a floorboard creaked in the hallway.
They both froze.
"He's listening," Gina whispered, her eyes darting to the door. "He's waiting to hear if you're... satisfied."
Brandon's expression shifted. The cold agent vanished, replaced by a mask of cruel amusement.
"Then let's give the Senator a show," he said.
He reached out and swept a heavy ceramic lamp off the side table. It crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. The noise was explosive.
"Turn around!" Brandon shouted, his voice booming, filled with a fabricated rage that sounded terrifyingly real. "Don't look at me!"
Outside the door, Hansford Burris leaned in, a twisted smile of relief crossing his face. The deal was done.
Inside the room, Brandon sat calmly in his chair, watching Gina with an arched brow. He gestured with his hand: Go on.
Gina understood. She let out a sharp, high-pitched cry. "Please! Please don't hurt me!"
She grabbed a heavy book from the desk and threw it against the wall. Thud.
"Louder," Brandon mouthed.
Gina squeezed her eyes shut. She channeled every ounce of humiliation she had felt in her past life, every scream she had swallowed. She let out a sob that sounded broken, pathetic.
"No... no..." she moaned.
Under the cover of the noise, she moved closer to Brandon, dropping her voice to a whisper. "The ledger is the key to the Sterling investigation. But I need time. I can't get it tonight. He'll be watching me."
Brandon nodded. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, black device. It looked like a hearing aid.
"Encrypted comms," he whispered back. "Direct line to me. If you fail, Gina, I won't save you. I'll burn you."
"I won't fail." Gina took the device and tucked it into the hidden pocket of her robe.
Brandon stood up.
Seeing him rise to his full height was jarring. He was over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, powerful. The wheelchair was a perfect prop. He walked over to her, his movements silent.
He reached out and grabbed the delicate silk of her robe. With a sharp yank, he tore the hem.
Riiip.
The sound was sharp and violent.
He reached up and brushed his thumb over her cheek. His touch was cold, calloused.
"Remember," he murmured, his face close to hers. "From this moment on, your life belongs to me."
He sat back down in the wheelchair. He waited ten minutes, letting the silence stretch, letting Hansford's imagination fill in the blanks.
Then, he buttoned his jacket, fixed his cuffs, and wheeled himself to the door.
He opened it.
Hansford's bodyguard was standing there. Brandon didn't even look at him. He rolled past, his face a mask of bored indifference.
"She's... durable," Brandon said to the empty hallway, knowing Hansford was listening around the corner. "Tell Burris I'll consider his proposal."
As the wheelchair rolled away, Gina sank to the floor amidst the shattered lamp and torn silk. She touched the hidden earpiece. She wasn't crying.
She was planning.
