"A piece of trash like you thinks she can have designs on my man?"
"Dirk told me himself. He said the thing he hates most about you is those eyes. The way you look at everyone like you're checking them for flaws."
Her gaze dropped to my right hand. Something cold and vicious crept into her expression.
"I hear these hands of yours are quite valuable."
"That they can tell real from fake. That they can feel the grain of a brushstroke."
She jerked her chin at the bodyguards, and they dragged me toward the stairwell.
The building was old, Soviet-style. The stairs were steep and made of solid concrete.
"Isabella Fox. Without these hands, what kind of 'Divine Eye' are you?"
I fought with everything I had, screaming for help.
But every door on the floor had already slammed shut. The neighbors had seen the bodyguards and wanted no part of it.
One of the bodyguards shoved me.
My body pitched forward and tumbled down the staircase.
My right hand struck the concrete edge of a step with the full force of the fall.
White-hot agony tore through me.
I heard the bone snap.
When I woke up in the hospital, my right hand was wrapped in layers of bandages.
The doctor shook his head.