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Chapter 313
Chapter 313:
Alycia opened her designer bag and placed a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills flat on the bar. Beside the money, she set down a small, unmarked plastic vial filled with fine white powder — a heavy sedative acquired through old medical school connections.
She slid both across the polished wood.
“The man in the corner booth,” Alycia whispered, her voice completely devoid of human emotion. “Put all of this in his next glass of whiskey. Do it, and there is another stack waiting for you p>
The bartender looked at the money, then at the vial. He nodded slowly.
ո𝖾w 𝖼𝗵а𝗉𝗍𝗲𝘳𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝘳𝘺 𝘄𝘦e𝘬 oո
Alycia turned her gaze back toward the booth. A sick, triumphant smile twisted her lips.
The trap was set.
The heavy mahogany door of the presidential suite at the Four Seasons Hotel Boston clicked shut, sealing the room in absolute, terrifying privacy.
Alycia leaned her back against the door, gasping for air, her chest heaving violently.
Draped heavily over her right shoulder was Cole.
He was completely unconscious. The massive dose of the military-grade sedative, compounded by the lethal quantity of alcohol already in his system, had shut down his central nervous system entirely. His head hung forward, chin resting against his chest. His breathing was deep and slow, completely unresponsive to the world around him.
Alycia pushed herself off the door. She tightened her arms around his waist and dragged his massive, dead weight across the thick Persian rug, her expensive heels digging into the carpet with every straining step. Every muscle in her body burned, but the toxic adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her moving.
She reached the edge of the king-sized bed.
With a final, desperate heave, Alycia twisted her body and let Cole fall forward. His heavy frame crashed onto the pristine white mattress without so much as a flinch. He was dead to the world.
Alycia stood over him, panting. She stared down at the man who controlled billions of dollars — the man who had screamed, just hours ago, that he would never let June go.
A dark, twisted smile of pure, cold victory stretched across her face.
He was entirely at her mercy now.
She checked her diamond wristwatch. Two in the morning. She had to work quickly. The sedative would hold him under for at least another six hours, but the scene needed to be absolutely flawless.
She reached down, grabbed the lapels of Cole’s ruined suit jacket, peeled it from his shoulders, and dropped it carelessly beside the nightstand. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his dress shirt, working through them with rapid, clinical precision. She pulled the fabric apart and stripped it from his arms, letting it fall to the carpet in a way that suggested haste. She unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, and draped them over the arm of a nearby chair.
Cole lay stripped to his boxers, completely motionless.