Page 117
Not even an hour ago, the man had his face between my thighs right out in the open. Yet, here I sit now, twice as mortified as I felt then. “This must be why women avoid you.”
“Only the smart ones, it seems.”
Tired of this stupid game between us, I try to yank myself free, but his grip tightens.
“Let go of me!” The rejection is something I’m all too familiar with, but for some reason, it stings this time. “Let me go, Thierry! Or, I swear to God, I’ll scratch your goddamn eyeballs out!”
“Listen to me, chaton. If life wasn’t so hell bent on fucking me over, I wouldn’t let you go, if you begged me. Unfortunately, in my world, you’re nothing but a pawn. A weakness. You’re a walking bullseye.”
“Bullseye? For whom--the cartel? The bad men you claim are after me? The same ones you work for, right? So, by default, aren’t you bad, too? The big bad wolf who eats young girls in the woods.”
Dark amusement shadows his stare, while his tongue slides across his teeth.
“What happens to the wolf if the girl bites back, huh? What if she’s just as hungry as he is?”
“You don’t want to taunt me, Céleste. Unless you’re looking to be fucked in more ways than one.”
“Because I make you weak? Or because you intend to turn me over, anyway?” A cold flicker in his eyes confirms my suspicions, and a knot twists in my stomach. That’s exactly what he intends to do. “What do you get out of it? A promotion? Your own personal harem to fuck every night?”
“Freedom.”
Well, I suppose that’s more worthy than free drinks for life at the bar. “What are you waiting for, then?”
“For my employer to return from business.”
Suddenly, everything makes sense. Why he’d keep me here. Away from civilization. Out of sight and out of mind. Why he’s avoided me for a week, because God forbid he might come to enjoy my company. Only a ruthless and conniving prick would have the balls to turn me over then, a plan that obviously hasn’t been entirely dismissed, where Thierry’s concerned.
I’ve read horror stories about the cartel. The way women are taken prisoner. Shared amongst them, or sold off to the highest bidder. How the man can sleep at night, knowing he’d be subjecting me to such a thing, only confirms he’s heartless. “As much as I’d love to avoid your riveting honesty, can you tell me what my future holds? The Cliff’s Notes version. What will they do to me? Torture me? Rape me?”
“Enough.”
“Why? Does it bother you? Is there some tiny little pinprick of light inside your fucking black heart, or something?” When he doesn’t answer, I swallow back the urge to cry right here on the bastard’s lap, like his pathetic little kitten, begging to be petted. “Sever it now, then. I’m sure the dirty cop will be more than happy to babysit me until your boss gets back.”
In spite of his maddening lack of response, I catch the tic of his jaw, telling me I’m hitting whatever soft spots this guy might have.
“I’ll bet his kink is bondage. Handcuffs. He definitely screams handcuffs.”
“I said enough of this. If you think an inexperienced homeless girl like yourself is capable of making me jealous, you’ve grossly overestimated your worth.”
Ouch.
I push off of him, awkwardly getting to my feet. What’s sickening to me, is the fact that, even during the moments when I’ve convinced myself I hate this man, I still find him utterly, painfully alluring. “It’s not my worth I’ve overestimated, Mr. Bergeron.” A quick glance down to his groin shows the massive bulge I felt pressed against my thighs just moments ago. “It’s your balls.”
Double blinking back the tears in my eyes, I head back toward the boat.
“Céleste.” The tone of his voice carries a disgusting air of remorse, and I’ll be goddamned if I’ll give him the satisfaction of turning around to see the pity in his eyes.
33
Thierry
Daubing an alcohol-soaked cloth against my cheek, I let out a grunt at the sizzling burn of my wound, breathing through my nose until it’s passed. The slice isn’t deep enough to warrant stitches, but I suspect it’ll surely leave a scar. A beautiful reminder of the moment I lost my head. Hurting Céleste wasn’t what I intended, but hearing her ask about my sister set off an alarm. One I didn’t realize was so primed to flip on the most innocent of inquiries. For years, I’ve waited for the cartel to find out about Frannie, and, in doing so, unknowingly created a ticking bomb inside of me. That, along with the picture she had tucked inside her backpack, sent me leaping over the edge of a cliff without a rope.
Once I regained my senses, I was already face deep between the girl’s thighs.
I still don’t know how she found out about her, but I’ll make a point to employ less tortuous methods for extracting that information next time. And by that, I mean less tortuous to me.
Having her laid out and restrained felt like Christmas and my fucking birthday all wrapped into one big fantasy. I should’ve known I’d break first. My head is so wound up in her, I can’t think straight. Can’t even muster a proper threat when I’m around her.
