He was telling her plainly: obey, or get hurt.
Fire flared in Maeve's eyes. "The thing I hate most in this world is someone pointing at my head and threatening me."
She flung the shredded agreement into Luka's face.
Before he could even react, she drove a brutal kick straight into his chest.
Luka had never imagined Maeve would actually put hands on him.
He collapsed, scrambling on the floor, clutching his ribs, staring up at her in disbelief. "You… you hit me?"
Maeve stood, then planted her shoe on his cheek and pressed down.
"A man who spends every waking minute plotting how to kill me," she said calmly, "belongs in hell."
Her weight came down harder.
Luka screamed. Two teeth snapped under the pressure.
He thrashed, trying to claw his way free, shouting through blood and broken words, "Bitch, don't forget I'm your father!"
"How dare you lay hands on your own father! Have you no soul? You'll rot in hell for this!"
"Let go! Let go! Someone—help!"
He couldn't understand it. Maeve looked all sharp edges and thin lines, but her strength was terrifying.
Maeve didn't move her foot.
She ground her heel in with the tip of her shoe, voice almost conversational. "I have a father. You're not him."
"If you think blood ties can chain me, wake up."
"And honestly—this interrogation room you picked for me? Nice choice. Sealed tight. Soundproof."
"You've been screaming for ages. No one's coming."
Luka roared, desperate. "If anything happens to me, you'll never get out of here!"

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