oom. Her bare arms were covered in goosebumps. Her toes thro

amber. The air was thick and heavy, suffocating her with the smell o

he soft click of the lock engaging severe

m. In the center sat a mass

r Finch. He was a heavily overweight man wi

Elie's veins was the man sitting o

t Ew

glass in his hand, his legs crossed, his

eyes crawled over the thin red silk clinging to her curves, lingering

ed on her neck. He saw the

up. A greasy, highly suggesti

ting. "The 'gift' you brought me is absolutely exqu

r liquid in his martini glass

voice flat and businesslike. "I trust the Series

ing round made Elie's stomach violently cramp. She felt physically sic

y leather cushion right

xt to me," Mortimer commanded,

't move. She turned her head and looked at Ebert. Her ey

e deliberately looked away, staring at

her teeth ached. She forced her leaden legs to move. She walked over

r's large, sweaty hand clamped d

She instinctively jerke

und her narrow waist. He yanked her hard agains

l of stale alcohol and bad breath hit Elie's face. She hel

und Elie's waist. The fingers holding his martini glass tighten

ct, frozen mask of indifferen

with straight, high-proof vodka from the tab

," Mortim

g her lips tightly together. "I...

e grabbed her chin roughly, his thi

're disrespecting Mr. Ew

es darted

th dead eyes. "Drink i

ered whatever was left of her soul. A look of a

She tilted her head back and downed the

It burned a path down her throat

oughing racked her small frame. Tears sprang to her ey

r coughing fit, he slid his sweaty hand higher up her thigh, his

slammed her hand down, grabbing Mortimer's thick

up. Her eyes were bl

her voice raspy and broken.