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Oops?
I look from my bleeding hand to the man in question.
The only reason why I can’t decipher who he is straight away is because he’s wearing a mask. A mask that glows up with X eyes and grinning lips with lines that give me the image of a smiling mouth with sewn lips. It glows a sick neon purple, but when he tilts his head to one side, it begins to shift to green.
That’s all I need to see to know who it is.
“Ruthless King?” I whisper and watch as he slowly bobs his head.
Zander.
“Do you trust me?” His voice is modified, probably due to the mask. It’s robotic, but I get just a hint of Zander’s gleeful voice. I wonder why he’s masked or how he knew I’d be here.
Unless he tracked me down.
I’m unsure why he would, especially when he’d have to return. Either way, he asked me a genuine question.
So I give him a genuine answer.
“No.”
It’s the truth.
One that makes him chuckle.
A robotic laughter that only turns me on in an odd way. I’d be lying if I denied having a bit of a kink for masked men, but that could be for reading far too many dark romances in my ‘free’ time. Fictional men give you better orgasms when real men don’t stand a chance.
Could Zander change that?
“Good.” He rewards me with praise before encouraging me to open my fist with the light brush of his thumb along the back of my hand. When I do, he entwines his fingers with mine.
“Now be a good girl and follow your Ruthless King into the unknown.”
Realistically, I should disobey, but as I stare up into his illuminating eyes as they’re now mismatched with one being purple and the other being neon green, I decide I don’t want to defy him.
It’s the opposite.
That’s why I don’t refuse.
15
CARVE MY FLESH AND VOW FOR VENGEANCE
~ZANDER~
Who would have thought watching a woman eat could be so fascinating?
That’s what I am focused on.
Eating like her life depends on it.
I’d never admit it to her, but I feel bad. She’s like a pet that needs to be taken care of. Fed, hydrated, and allowed to get enough sleep.
She’s the woman who somehow survived such an eventful forty-eight hours and hasn’t gone crying to her Daddy Dearest that the three of us are pieces of shit that can’t even get her to eat a granola bar.
It’s not good that she hasn’t eaten for so long.
“Are you going to die?” The words leave my lips before I can comprehend them. They’re not spoken demandingly but more so with a hint of intrigued concern.
