Free Made: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boy Games) by Danielle Slater, Allegra Ryan Page B

a scanner. When the doors open, he steps inside to scan his card again and punch a number. The doors close, and we’re gliding upward.
    Davis looks like he wants to throw up.
    When the elevator doors open again, I understand why.
    Nathan’s head whips around, his gaze piercing me before moving on to Davis, who is attempting to shrink into himself, and failing.
    “I’m sorry, sir, I tried—” Davis begins.
    It’s a stocky, balding man who interrupts, walking forward as if wading through muddy water. “What the hell? I thought I made it clear this floor was off limits.”
    Nathan steps between the balding man and the elevator. “I’ll take care of this, sir.”
    “Oh no, you’re not.” I stalk out of the elevator and cross to my sister.
    “What are you doing here?” she whispers when I’m standing next to her.
    “Saving your ass,” I hiss back at her.
    “Oh God, Brooke, I’m so sorry.” She buries her face in her hands.
    An old man seated to my left whacks me on the leg with his cane. “What is the meaning of this intrusion.” I was always taught to respect my elders, but if he hits me again, I might have to rip that cane out of his liver-spotted hands.
    “I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t care. I’m taking my sister home. Now. Come on, Samantha.”
    “She’s your sister?” Nathan stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
    “Yes, Einstein. She’s my sister and not—” I glance at Samantha. “What were you thinking? Calling yourself Deja Booty ?”
    Samantha’s face reddens. “It was a joke. Rachel and I were just having fun.”
    The balding guy’s head swivels from Nathan to me and back again. Then he shares a long look with a man I didn’t notice at first. He’s blond, tall and movie star handsome, and could have stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine.
    Turning his attention back to me, the balding man inquires, “Miss. . .?”
    “Lopez. I’m Brooke, and this is my sister, Samantha Lopez.”
    “Thank you, Miss Lopez.” He introduces himself as Tucker Voss and then goes around the room, listing their names as if I should recognize them. Or bow or some such nonsense. The only thing that registers in my stunned brain is Nathan’s last name: Costa.
    “Right now,” Tucker continues, “I can assure you of one thing: this situation in which you find yourself is no joke. While I appreciate your concern for you sister’s well-being, it is misplaced.”
    I shake my head, confused.
    “I promise she’ll be taken care of,” he insists. Which means he’s not going to let me take her home.
    Fear bubbles up in my stomach like acid, threatening to burn holes in my body. I look over at Nathan. Whatever emotion I thought I’d glimpsed there a moment ago has vanished, replaced by the stone-faced predator I recognize. Only this time, his gaze is fixed on Tucker Voss.
    “Let her go,” Nathan growls.
    Tucker raises a brow. “The weapon has an opinion? What did I tell you earlier? Has it slipped your mind?”
    An invisible battle plays out between them. I can’t tell who wins, only that it’s Nathan who speaks next, and his tone is more respectful. “She’s just a kid. M. de Hainault can find another.”
    “This is an outrage,” the Frenchman bellows. “I will not stand for it.”
    “You?” I round on the old man. “You’re going to. . .” I can’t bring myself to say what I suspect this old bastard wants to do to my sister. “You’re sick.”
    “You don’t know the half of it.” The blond man emerges from the shadows—Ferrara. When he speaks, his voice is deep and soothing and all the while, his gaze never leaves Samantha. “But I must disagree, he’s not sick. M. de Hainault is massively rich, and because of that fact, he can have anyone and anything he wants. Tonight, he wants your sister. Tomorrow, it will be another girl or perhaps, a boy, I confess I don’t know that much about his predilections. Nothing you say and nothing you