Return of the Assassin (Assassin Series 3) Read Online Free PDF

her bearings, a vague memory of her predicament intruding through the narcotic haze.
    “All right. I’m up. Can I go to the bathroom, or do you want me to vomit all over you?” Her voice seemed to hang above her, otherworldly, someone else’s, the timbre and words unfamiliar, yet her own.
    “You have one minute, and then I come in after you, and no more bullshit. Go do what you have to do. I’ll be waiting right here. Make it snappy,” the man growled.
    She swiveled her eyes and saw his partner leering at her from the doorway. No more kindly doctor feelgood to take her away from all the ugliness.
    “Fine. Get off me,” she hissed, fully in the moment now.
    “Yes, your highness. I’ll remember your insulting tone when I’m making you squeal like a pig.” The man’s allusion was unmistakable, and even through the blur of jumbled sensations she registered menace.
    He let go of her and moved back to his partner, and she tried to shake away the cobwebs that made everything surrealistic. She moved her legs, swinging them to the edge of the bed, then stood uneasily. At least she could walk.
    Maria made her way to the bathroom and took care of her necessities, noting the puffiness around her eyes and the beginning of discoloration on one cheek – a bruise on the opposite side of her face from the red of the slap. She had no recollection of what had hit her, which was probably just as well. She found a brush in one of the drawers and teased the knots out of her hair.
    Pounding on the door disrupted her. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”
    “I’ll be out in a second,” she protested before hurriedly using the toilet, registering with dismay that the window in the bathroom was too small to crawl through.
    Finished, she exited and approached the two thugs. The one who had manhandled her on the bed grabbed her arm and pushed her roughly out the door and along the wide hallway.
    When they reached a large living room, the men steered her to a dining-room table, where an older man with slicked-back silver hair sat sipping coffee. He motioned for her to take a seat across from him and took an appreciative pull on the steaming brew.
    “Would you like some coffee? Eggs? You haven’t eaten for a few days,” he offered, eyeing her over the rim of the china cup.
    She realized she was famished, but didn’t want to show it. She shook her head.
    “No. I’m fine.”
    The man ignored her and snapped his fingers. A portly woman trundled from the kitchen at the far end of the room and approached. In clipped Spanish, he ordered scrambled eggs, toast, and potatoes. The woman nodded and repeated the order back before returning to the kitchen.
    “You need to eat. Can’t have you wasting away to nothing while my guest,” the man said.
    “Guest? Is that what you call this? I’ve been kidnapped, shot up with heroin, your men are threatening me with a beating or worse, and I’m your guest?” she spat.
    The man glared at the two muscular sentries, who shrugged innocently, though with looks of alarm clear on their faces.
    “I apologize if my men were overly enthusiastic. That won’t happen again. You have nothing to fear from me. As to the heroin, it’s regrettable, but I need a mechanism to keep you out of mischief, like trying to escape, and the drug is remarkable for its blunting of ambitions. I can assure you that it’s temporary, and that once this is all over, you’ll be able to leave it behind. We’re only giving you small doses…”
    “Small doses. I see. And who are you? Why have you kidnapped me?”
    “My identity is unimportant. Suffice it to say that I’m a kind of God here, and you exist at my pleasure. As to why you are my guest,” he took another sip of coffee, “it’s because of your father. Regrettably, he’s not a man of his word, and an arrangement we had has fallen apart, entirely due to his bad faith. I need leverage to remind him that he needs to be a man of honor and abide by his commitments.