Chapter 7
The Maybach rolled smoothly through the streets of Beverly Hills.
The air inside the car was thick with tension. Carra sat as far away from Jory as possible, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"You had no right to do that," Carra seethed, glaring at the tinted window. "You treated me like a piece of property in front of my entire office."
Jory leaned back against the leather seat. He adjusted his Patek Philippe watch, completely unbothered.
"I slept with you," Jory stated, his voice flat. "That makes you mine to protect. I don't let my things get broken by trash."
Carra's mouth fell open. "Your things?"
Before she could scream at him, her phone erupted. It started vibrating violently against her thigh, pinging with dozens of notifications a second.
Carra pulled it out. Her screen was flooded with alerts from Twitter, TMZ, and Page Six.
She tapped the top notification.
A massive, high-definition photo filled her screen. It was her, wearing the soaking wet silk dress, being carried into the Century City parking garage by Jory Elliott.
The headline screamed in bold red letters: EK GROUP CEO'S MYSTERY LOVER! VANCE STERLING'S PR GIRLFRIEND TAKEN AWAY BY BILLIONAIRE BOSS!
Carra's blood ran cold. The PR nightmare was real. She was going to be branded as a gold-digger who cheated on Vance with his boss.
She frantically opened the Twitter app. She started typing a statement on her verified account, trying to explain that the photo was taken out of context.
A large hand reached across the seat and snatched the phone right out of her grip.
"Hey!" Carra yelled, lunging for it.
Jory held the phone out of her reach. His thumb quickly swiped across the screen, deleting her draft entirely. He locked the phone and tossed it onto the empty seat next to him.
"What are you doing?" Carra demanded, grabbing his forearm.
Jory easily pinned her wrists together with one hand, pushing her back against the seat.
"I am letting the fire burn," Jory said coldly. "This scandal perfectly covers up Vance's affair. The media is looking at us, not him. The stock price will stabilize."
Carra stared at him in horror.
"You leaked the photos," she whispered, the realization making her physically sick. "You planned this. You used me as a human shield for your company."
Jory didn't confirm or deny it. He just stared at her with those dead, calculating eyes.
"You're a monster," Carra choked out, tears of absolute frustration finally spilling over her lashes.
Suddenly, the phone on the seat started ringing.
It wasn't a notification ping. It was a phone call from an unknown, blocked number.
Jory released her wrists. Carra snatched the phone up and hit accept, needing a distraction from the man sitting next to her.
"Hello?" she snapped.
There was no greeting. Instead, a blood-curdling scream tore through the speaker.
"Carra! Help me! Oh God, please!"
It was Shane. Her younger half-brother.
Carra's heart stopped beating. "Shane? Shane, where are you?"
A rough, gravelly voice with a heavy Mexican accent took over the line.
"Is this the sister?" the man asked.
"Yes! Who is this? What have you done to him?" Carra screamed, her fingers digging into the phone case.
"Your brother has a gambling problem, chica," the man chuckled darkly. "He played at our tables. He lost. He owes us five hundred thousand dollars."
"Half a million?" Carra gasped, the air leaving her lungs.
"You have two hours to bring the cash," the man said, his voice dropping into a lethal threat. "Or I start cutting off his fingers. One by one. And then I mail them to your office."
Shane screamed again in the background, a wet, agonizing sound.
"Please! Don't hurt him! I don't have that kind of money!" Carra begged, hyperventilating.
The man rattled off an address for an abandoned warehouse in East Los Angeles.
"Two hours," the man repeated, and the line went dead.
The dial tone hammered against Carra's eardrum. She dropped the phone. Her chest heaved rapidly as she struggled to pull oxygen into her lungs.
She opened her banking app with trembling thumbs. Her checking account had exactly ten thousand dollars in it.
She was going to listen to her brother get tortured to death.
Carra lunged forward and slammed her fists against the glass partition.
"Frank! Stop the car! Stop the car right now!" she screamed hysterically.
Jory frowned. He reached out and grabbed her flailing arms, pulling her back into the seat.
"What happened?" Jory demanded, his voice sharp.
Carra fought him like a wild animal. She kicked and thrashed, tears streaming down her face.
"Let me go!" she sobbed. "I have to save him! Let me go!"
She refused to ask the man who had just used her for a PR stunt for half a million dollars. She would rather die.
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