Entangled In Deceit (Deceit Series #1)

Chapter 5

I could only arch an eyebrow, matching his expression with my own.

"I fucking don't know, Sherlock!" I snapped, rolling my eyes with as much disdain as I could muster, refusing to let him see how rattled I truly was.

His grip on my throat slowly tightened, not enough to cut off my airway completely but enough to make my pulse race with panic.

The pressure was a warning, a threat he could make good on in an instant.

"You're a spy for Silvestre, aren't you? Who is your true master?" He demanded, his voice cold and relentless.

To say I was confused was an understatement. I was utterly bewildered.

This guy actually thought I was a spy.

'True master? True master my ass! I am my own master.'

Well. . .

I might have thought it, but I wasn't about to say it to this clearly unhinged man.

I valued my life, thank you very much.

"I'm not a spy so let me the fuck go!" I yelled, thrashing in his hold, squirming and wriggling desperately to break free.

His expression darkened, his eyes narrowing with a grim sort of resolve that sent a chill down my spine.

His hand tightened further, making it hard to breathe, my vision blurring at the edges. I squeaked, clawing at his wrist, struggling to loosen his hold as panic clawed at my chest.

"My patience is running out, speak." He ordered.

"I'm telling y-you. . . I-I don't know! I-I'm not a s-spy you dumbass! Ack!—" My voice broke as his grip crushed the words from my throat.

Patience was clearly a foreign concept to him. He squeezed harder, cutting off what little air I had left.

"I-I c-can't fucking breath!" My hands balled into fists, pounding weakly against his chest. Hoping, praying, that it would hurt him, that he would let go.

He simply watched me, those oceanic eyes unblinking, almost curious as he observed my struggle.

A single tear slipped down my right cheek. Not from fear, not from sorrow, but from the pain and the certainty that his grip would leave a bruise, a mark impossible to hide.

Three agonizing minutes crawled by before he finally released me, his hand leaving a burning imprint on my throat.

I surprised myself by holding out that long.

Honestly, I deserved a page in the Guinness Book of World Records for this feat.

The title? Surviving Your Fucking Enemy's Chokehold for a Full Three Minutes.

I collapsed onto the grass in a heap, gasping for air, my chest heaving as oxygen rushed back into my lungs.

I didn't dare look up, but I could feel his gaze, cold and unwavering, fixed on my trembling form.

"If you're not, then who are you?"

Should I be honest? Or should I lie?

My hand instinctively rose to my neck, fingers gently caressing the tender, aching skin where his hand had left its mark.

'Damned guy. . .'

I froze when I felt the unmistakable weight of his gun press down on my head.

"And don't even think about lying, or else your head will be no more." His voice was deep and menacing, thick with a foreign accent that made his threat feel all the more real.