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He roughly shoves me forward, out the door into the dark hallway. But any hopes I have of him being insane enough to drag me past a ballroom full of cops evaporates when we turn and head the other way down the hall.
By the time we’ve reached the stairwell, I’ve started to thrash and kick. Cillian stops that cold by lifting me like I weigh less than nothing and tossing me—the asshole fuckingtosses me—over his goddamn shoulder. I squirm and yell and buck even harder…
…until his palm comes down with a blisteringly sharp smack against my ass.
My jaw goes slack. My blood turns to fire.
For a horrifying moment, I think I’m about to stain the shoulder of his jacket with my arousal. Especially when he does it again, this time lifting my skirt first so that his palm hits bare flesh. My face floods with heat as his hand lingers for a moment on the stinging skin of my ass cheek, rubbing briefly across it and the back of my thong before dropping away.
Down another hallway, Cillian kicks open a back service door. I shiver as the cool night air hits my bare thighs when we step out into the alley behind the Ritz.
Where there’s a waiting black car.
“PLEASE!” I scream. But it’s more like a “PUHHEESH!” around the gag stuffed in my mouth.
Cillian’s only response is yet another smack on my ass.
Then he’s suddenly yanking me off his shoulder. I gasp as he slams me into the side of the car and leans in close, sucking the air from my lungs. “I’m through playing fucking games with you, Una.”
I whimper as he suddenly spins me, pins my arms behind my back, and wraps a strong, veined hand around my throat.
“And now you’re coming with me.”
Adrenaline roars through my veins. Terror floods my heart. Because for all my forbidden and horrible fantasies involving this man, this is stillCillian Kildare.
Certified psychopath.
Vicious killer.
And a man who’s looking at me like he’s deciding right here, on this very spot, whether to fuck me or kill me.
Or maybe even both, in who knows which order.
I’m not waiting around to let him figure it out. In one move, I stomp down hard on his foot and twist, using a bastardized version of jiu-jitsu to twist out of his grasp. My forearm slams out, catching him by surprise in the throat before I whirl and bolt.
I make it all of two steps before a hand grabs a vicious, painful fist of my hair. I cry out through the gag still in my mouth, choking and gasping as he yanks me back. A firm, muscled arm wraps around my neck, and I scream into the gag as I feel the cold metal of handcuffs securing my wrists behind my back.
“I do so enjoy it when you choose thehard way.”
I scream as a bag goes over my head. Then, all I know is being lifted and unceremoniously dumped into what is clearly the trunk, which then shuts before the car starts.
And then we’re off, to God only knows where.
* * *
I gasp,wincing when the bag is yanked from my head. I shiver, and as my eyes adjust to the bright white light, they scan the room.
My heart crawls up into my throat.
Where the fuck am I?
It’s a room that may very well have onceliterallybeen a slaughterhouse, or a meat locker. Or at least, I can only hope it “once” was and isn’t “currently”.
I’m in a metal chair in the center of the fluorescent-lit room. The walls and ceiling are clad in metal. The floor is concrete, with a drain in the middle.
And there are chains with fuckinghookson them dangling from the ceiling.
He’s going to fucking kill me. He’s actually going to fucking kill me, right here.
