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I wasn’t a Stockholm victim.
“All right,” I responded simply, not wanting to give an inch, though I wasn’t stupid. He had all the power and I knew it. I thrust my hand upwards, like a knight commanding her army. “Take me out and let’s see what happens.”
He sighed, shaking his head, then set me on my feet. “First, I have conditions.”
I frowned. "What conditions?”
Letting go of my waist, he pulled something out of his pocket, and my scowl deepened. "I'm not wearing that."
"If you want out of this house, you'll have to wear it. Plus, you'll have to hide in the back seat.”
I jerked the black , silk-lined bag from his fingers and put it over my own head, hating it. At least it smelled nice. "And how am I supposed to walk with this thing over my head?”
"You're not." Grabbing my hips, he jerked me off my feet and threw me over his shoulder. "And don't say a word, or I'll lock you up in the basement."
* * *
The last time I'd been this mortified was when I had to sneak back into the house after losing my virginity to Jose Varga at the awesome age of sixteen.
It'd been out in the barn, and my hair was full of hay, my clothes tussled, my inner thighs sticky with his come. My embarrassment and disappointment marked my face as I'd scurried in through the back entrance, sneaking down the hallways and past my Papa's room.
Since then, sex had become much better than Jose’s clumsy attempts to deflower me, but I'd never forgotten the shame I'd felt, hiding that from my Papa.
And now, I was scrunched down into the back of Coulter's back seat, the sound of his loud engine roaring in my ears. Coulter drove a sleek, black refurbished 1970 Remi Cuda, the updates so new, the leather seats still had that new car smell.
I'd yanked the bag off my face, thinking it ridiculous, but I was quiet as we'd left through the gates of his house and onto the busy Las Vegas streets.
After several minutes, Coulter parked the car but he didn't move, just stared out the front window, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about.
The sounds from the busy city were muted—we were at the back end of a parking deck, and the silence seemed to stretch forever.
"If you're not quiet, I will have to force you to do something you're not going to like." His startling, cold words sent a shiver up my spine and an angry outburst from my mouth.
“I didn't even make a peep. Not even after we left your house.”
"You were good the whole way here, and that's the only reason I’m trusting you now.” He still didn't look at me. "But this is your warning. If you try to run off, or misbehave in any way, you're not going to like the repercussions."
I struggled to squeeze myself out from the floor of the back seat, until finally, I could sit up enough to stare at his profile.
He really was a beautiful man. His features sharp, perfectly carved like an Adonis statue or a di Vinci.
One of those pieces of art that stole your breath the minute you looked at it. And if you stared at it for too long, your chest began to ache with a longing that would never go away. Yet, you continued to stare, wishing you could will it into existence, into a living, breathing creature.
"Where are we?”
He finally turned, his sharp profile becoming 3D, melding before my very eyes. And yet, his gaze was still harsh, his eyes flat and emotionless. "Somewhere you're not going to like."
It was like pressing my face against the side of an ice statue, staring into those eyes. Goosebumps skirted up my arms and prickled the hair at the back of my neck. “Then why did you bring me here?”
"So that you'll exactly understand your situation. My father has kept you in the house, treated you fairly well. That’s because Rose and Bourbon insisted on it. But I need you to know, Aster, my father is not a nice man, and the sooner you know this, the better off your life will be."
My throat was suddenly full. "And are you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Am I what?"
"A nice man?"
His eyes lowered from mine to take in my face. They lingered over my hair and cheekbones, to my nose, then landed on my lips. "No."
