Agila towered over her. His shoulders were broad, and his muscles were thick under his shirt.
Alcohol didn't cause him to wobble; it fueled him. He grabbed Lara's waist and pulled her toward the staircase carved into the stone.
She didn't resist.
The second floor opened into a wide space—a table, a dozen chairs. Must be a strategy room, a planning ground where decisions that ruined lives probably started.
And then the single room.
The wooden door was thick, reinforced. Heavy enough to muffle screams.
He shoved her inside.
She let him.
The room was bare, only a bamboo bed wide enough for three people. No mattress—just hard bamboo slats and a lone pillow. A small window near the ceiling allowed air but no escape.
Too high. Too narrow, but not for Lara, who was still slender.
Agila locked the door. He did not want her to escape and spoil the fun,
"What a pity," he said, grinning as he loosened his collar. "Only you tonight. It's not fun without variety."
His eyes darkened.
