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He doesn’t even acknowledge that I’m speaking, instead tearing the shirt open right down the middle. For one horrifying moment, I know this is it. He’s not just going to kill me; he’s going to rape me first. When he starts stripping the shirt from me, I fight with all I have, but all he does is grab my wrists and wrap the shirt around them before using it to tie me to the headboard.
“Please, please! I just want to go home! That’s all, just let me go!” I sob, twisting and squirming with my arms over my head. It’s no use. He’s tied me tight, and every tug only makes the knot that much more impossible to loosen.
Instead of acknowledging a word I’m screaming, he climbs onto the bed, straddling me before bending down until his face fills my field of vision. The stench of whiskey is thick enough to choke me. “You can never leave well enough alone, can you?” he demands. His eyes, god, they’re so dark and empty.Evil.
“I just want to go home. Why don’t you get that?” I whimper, praying maybe he can see how truthful I’m being.
“And if your father would act like a man and come to the table to do business, you could go home.” My father again. It’s too late now to tell him that man is not my father. I’m dead, plain and simple. It seems like no matter what I do, I’m going to end up losing my life. I can’t bring myself to pull the trigger—no pun intended. Besides, I don’t even know if he would believe me if I finally confessed.
“But that’s fine,” he continues, pressing his body against mine. And despite the fear rippling through me, it feels good, which only throws my brain into worse confusion than before. I don’t know if I’m writhing and bucking my hips in a vain attempt to throw him off me or because I want more of me touching more of him. Am I really this far gone?
His fingers trail along my jaw, then my throat. He touches me like I’m a rare jewel, like I’m fragile, and I tense up in preparation for what I know is coming. We’ve played this game before, and even though I’m terrified, heat blooms in my core, too. It’s like my body is determined to betray me.
Strange enough, he doesn’t grab my throat. Instead, his fingers trail down my chest, between my breasts, and over my rapidly beating heart. I look up at him, wondering where this is going, and all I see is the face of a man determined to get revenge.
We stare at one another before he breaks the silence. “I’ll use you to make it happen,” he announces in a deceptively soft voice. “And when I do, he’s going to regret ever fucking with what’s mine.”
14
ENZO
“Remember what I told you.” It’s difficult to rein in my amusement at the way she struggles. “The more you fight, the more I like it.”
“You’re fucking sick,” she spits out. Little does she know how that turns me on, as well. The white-hot hatred is now rolling off her in waves, threatening to drown both of us in its depths.
“Do you think that comes as any surprise to me? I’m well aware of my faults and weaknesses. You are not telling me anything I haven’t already told myself.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”
“If that makes you glad, you’ll be so much happier once I get started in earnest.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Do us both a favor, and don’t play dumb. You’ve made questionable decisions, I’ll grant you, but I doubt you’re stupid. You know exactly what I mean.”
Where to begin? So many options. I’m a boy in front of a Christmas tree, gifts galore spread out as far as the eye can see. The only question is, which do I unwrap first?
“What are you doing?” She makes a weak attempt at bucking me off when I kneel on the bed and run a hand up her bare leg.
“What do you think? I’m having a little fun. I might as well, right? I’m certainly not getting what I need from you in any other way.”
She flinches when my hand creeps higher and higher over her bare thigh. “So soft,” I murmur, genuinely impressed. “So nice to touch. Do you really want to deny me the opportunity to touch you?”
Gritting her teeth, her response is as I suspected. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want.”
“That’s a shame. But you aren’t going to get what you want. I would tell you I’m sorry, but that would be a lie.” I dig my fingers in up high, close to her hip, and her strangled gasp only makes me grip her harder. The need to mark her is feral. “You and I, we haven’t had nearly as much fun as we could. I plan to rectify that.”
“And what does that mean?” she whispers, struggling fruitlessly against the shirt holding her wrists immobile over her head.
“See this?” Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone. “Maybe it’s time I remind your father what’s at stake.”
Horror is the only word to describe what washes over her face, almost contorting it into something unrecognizable. “You wouldn’t do that!”
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? Of course, I would. Gladly, since the son of a bitch is playing one big game of chicken. Wanting to see which of us will blink first. We’ll see how much blinking he’s willing to do once he gets a look at his baby girl tied to my bed.” She starts twisting, screaming out her rage and indignation. All I can do is laugh while inside a storm has begun to rage.
Dammit, she is tempting. Such spirit, too. Practically begging me to break that spirit, to grind her into nothing but a pliant, malleable thing I can use for my pleasure, at my will.
But no, on second thought. I like her better this way. Trying to kick me, snarling, working herself into a sweat with every ineffectual swing of her leg, every time she tries to drive a knee into some part of me or another.
