Page 17 of Depraved

From the second I heard the click of the lock, there was this giant hole in my gut, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to cry or vomit. Maybe both.

I had never been this scared in my entire life. Suddenly, all those fights I had with my father, hating that he always had security around me, seemed selfish and stupid.

What I wouldn’t give for that kind of protection right now.

I glanced down at the rope on the floor, then at the red marks it left around my wrists.

His face. His eyes. After so long, I had finally looked into his eyes, seen his face, been so close to him I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. But this wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to be the bad guy who wanted to hurt me. He was supposed to be the bad guy who would want to change because of me.

Oh, my God. Thinking about it that way made me realize what a fucking cliché it was. For years, I bullshitted myself into believing a goddamn fairy tale could come my way. Dark prince falls in love with the beautiful princess.

What a naïve and stupid princess.

I took a deep breath. His earthy scent still lingered around me, and the fact that I liked it made the disappointment even worse.

I stood and scanned the room. It sure didn’t look like a hostage chamber. It was easy to see the wooden-framed bed was new, the sheets crisp and clean. The sun peeked inside, lighting a little more of the room with every passing minute.

Cautiously, I started to move around. A white chest of drawers stood by the wall, a dressing table next to it. As I moved closer, seeing what was placed on top of it, my heart slowly crept up my throat, choking me. My hairbrush, my pale pink make-up bag, three hairbands, and a bottle of the exact brand of perfume I used—Armani Code. It was there. It was all there.

Jesus. What the fuck was this?

I reached out, wanting to touch it, inspect it, wondering if it really was mine, or just exact replicas. But my hand couldn’t stop shaking, so I pulled back. This was too surreal. Fucking insane.

The door unlocked, and my gaze cut across the room. I recognized him the minute he appeared. It was the man who held the gun. The man who shot the guy who’d had his weapon against my head. The man who could have killed me if he had missed the shot. It made my stomach turn to think how easily he had taken a life—even if it was to save mine.

“How you feeling?”

In the light, I immediately saw the similarities between him and my stranger in the dark. Only he looked slightly different, with light, shoulder-length hair and a well-groomed beard. But he was in no way less threatening.

“Who are you?” The words just slipped out.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him with his foot. “I’m Onyx.”

I glanced down at his cut. Vice president. The tag beneath, Blood Brothers.

“My brother said to bring you something to eat.” He tossed a paper bag on the bed. “So…eat.”

Frozen on the spot, I looked from the paper bag to him. “Is your brother the man who was here earlier?”

“Well, that depends.” He sat on the chair in the corner, leaning back, legs spread. “Was this man about as tall as me, broad shoulders, messy hair, shitty attitude?”

I remained silent, giving a slight nod.

He raised an eyebrow. “Then, yes, that would be my brother.”

Staring at him warily, I kept seeing this image in my head of him with the gun in his hand, determined to shoot while I was in the crossfire. I remembered thinking his bullet would surely end up in my chest. Fear didn’t spread like an icy chill down my spine. It didn’t cause my heartrate to spike or make it difficult to breathe. It was numbing, deadening, making me feel…nothing.

Onyx kept staring at me, moving his legs up and down as he leisurely leaned in the chair. “You okay?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No. But you seem a little pale.” The grin on his face was all sarcasm.

“You killed a man.”

He snorted. “You’ll need to be more specific. I’ve killed a lot of people, sweetheart.”

“The guy who held me as a shield. You shot him.”