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I remain motionless, not uttering a word. If I do, I’ll yell profanities, and then he’ll really choke me to death.
It’s crazy how much his energy seeps under my skin even when I try to chase it away.
It’s like hypnotism.
That’s it—I’m being hypnotized.
He squeezes his thumb against the hollow of my throat. “I said, is that fucking understood?”
“Whatever you say, Ash.” I try to keep the tremors and fear out of my voice by inserting as much sarcasm as I can.
Big mistake.
His hand turns to steel as he squeezes hard. My eyes bulge as my small air supply vanishes.
I claw at his hand, scratching the skin. Just like in the hospital, he doesn’t budge.
The damn psycho is out for my life.
“What was that?” he asks, slightly loosening his hold.
“Asher! Asher!”
He removes his hand, but he doesn’t back off.
I cough, massaging my assaulted throat. “Jeez. It’s just a name.”
He stares at me for a second too long, as if he’s trying to figure out how to deal with me and…failing.
“Cut the crap. Where were you going that night?” he asks in a calm tone, as if he didn’t just attempt to end my life.
“Ever heard of amnesia? It means I don’t remember.” I point at my head. “I don’t even know why the hell I’m with someone like you.”
“You’re not with me.”
Both his hands grip my bare thighs and pull me forward so my legs are on either side of his kneeling position. I yelp then gasp when his hands trail up until they reach the middle of my thighs. I try to escape, but he digs his fingers into my bruises, caging me against him.
“I own you. Every single part of you. You might have tried to escape, but that won’t happen again. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing this time, but I’ll figure it out and you’ll lose like you do every fucking time.”
“I tried to escape?” I ask. “Why?”
From what? Or rather, who? Does it have something to do with Dad’s mafia friends or with Asher or what exactly?
So many questions and no answer whatsoever.
“That’s what I’m going to find out.” He keeps a hand on my thigh, and brings the other to my face, placing his thumb on my lips. It’s still cold like it was at the hospital, but my nerves keep tingling at the sensation.
Asher’s dark eyelashes flutter over his somber gaze like a cloak, impenetrable and harsh. “Open your mouth.”
If he thinks he gets a repeat of what happened at the hospital, then he’s sorely mistaken. I only did that because it was a ploy to have him lower down his guards. Now that he’s demanding it means he’s in control, and I don’t play with an Asher in control. That’ll only mean he’ll devour me alive and leave nothing behind.
“No.” I jut my chin. “I won’t do—”
“Shhh. Don’t talk. When I speak, you listen. W
hen I order, you obey. Now, open that fucking mouth.”
How can he sound so authoritative and controlling when he says that? Is that how he always talks?
