Chapter 6 - The Iron Grip
The heavy pressure of Marcus’s hand stifled my gasp, sealing the cry of terror in my throat. The screen of the server terminal glowed in the dim hallway, the progress bar creeping forward with agonizing slowness—twelve percent... thirteen percent. Every nerve ending in my body screamed as Marcus’s fingers dug cruelly into my cheekbones, his hot breath smelling of expensive scotch and adrenaline.
"Well, well," Marcus whispered, his voice a low, venomous hiss right beside my ear. "Sarah, the pathetic little cleaning girl who couldn't even afford a winter coat, standing in the private server room accessing the core financial architecture of Bennett Enterprises. Tell me, sweet girl... does Julian know you're playing with fire, or did you decide to burn down the house all on your own?"
My lungs burned for air. I tried to twist away, but his grip was like a vise forged from steel and malice. Down the corridor, the commotion he had manufactured to pull the guard away was dying down, meaning the guard would be back any second. If he turned around now, if he saw the flashing green light of the transfer, everything—Julian's years of agonizing planning, my children's safety, our very lives—would evaporate in a heartbeat.
"You're... you're hurting me," I choked out around his fingers, forcing my voice to tremble with fake, terrified submission rather than the blazing fury underneath.
"Hurting you?" Marcus chuckled darkly, leaning his weight against me so that my back slammed hard into the cold metal casing of the server rack. "I haven't even started hurting you yet. People who steal from my family usually find themselves taking a very permanent swim in Lake Michigan with concrete boots. Now... look at the screen, Clara. Look at it."
I forced my eyes toward the monitor. Thirty-four percent.
Suddenly, a loud, heavy metallic thud echoed from the intersection of the hallway.
"Mr. Bennett?" a voice called out—the security guard, returning from his decoy chase far too quickly. "Everything clear down here?"
Marcus didn't turn around, but his eyes narrowed into razor-thin slits as he stared down at me. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to call out and expose us both. Instead, his hand slid slowly down from my mouth, his fingers curling into the fabric of my emerald-green gown, pulling me flush against his chest so that any approaching guard would only see a shadow of an illicit embrace in the dark alcove.
"All clear, Miller," Marcus called out smoothly, his tone shifting effortlessly into casual arrogance. "Just checking the perimeter. Return to your post at the ballroom entrance."
May you like
"Yes, sir," the guard muttered, his footsteps retreating down the carpeted hall.
As soon as the sound faded, Marcus’s smile vanished. He shoved me backward, sending me stumbling against the opposite wall. He reached for the flash drive protruding from the terminal—
