Victor Sinclair
I pushed open the heavy metal door to the holding room with a soft creak, stepping inside with my hands in my pockets like I was visiting an old friend. Oh wait, my foolish and naive ex ..
The space was dimly lit, with cold concrete walls, and a single hospital-style bed bolted to the floor in the center. Clara was already awake, sitting up with her wrists and ankles chained to the metal frame.
My men had dressed her in a simple gray sweatshirt and pants, just like I ordered.
“Well, well,” I said with a slow smile, closing the door behind me. “Look who’s finally awake. You look beautiful even when you’re furious, Clara. I’ve always admired that fire in you.”
Clara’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with pure hatred.
She yanked hard against the chains, the metal rat
