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The murderous intent that had been simmering within me begins to waver as my gaze rolls over her body. She's a sight to behold, with her perfect curves barely covered by the scraps that pass for her undergarments. A spark of desire, unwelcome but undeniable, flickers to life in the pit of my stomach. My eyes trace the contour of her slender waist, the gentle swell of her hips, and the tantalizing promise of her breasts. The sight of her, vulnerable and exposed, awakens a primal hunger within me.
A sudden wave of possessiveness washes over me, a violent tide threatening to capsize my rigid self-control. The thought of my brother being intimate with her, touching her, ignites a fire in my veins. The notion of his hands on her skin, where mine long to be, is a torment that gnaws at my insides. A growl rumbles in my throat, echoing the primal claim that roars within me. Her eyes, wide with fear, meet mine, and in them, I see a reflection of the savage desire that I'm barely holding in check. This woman, this bewitching siren, belonged to my brother. At this moment, with her bound and at my mercy, I can't escape the raw, possessive need that she ignites in me.
The room reeks of cold dread and apprehension, but beneath it all, I detect a hint of something intoxicating. A hint of her. The scent wraps around me like a siren's call that tugs at the buried desires I've fought so hard to suppress. Murderous thoughts slip away, replaced by a carnal longing that tightens its grip with each passing moment. My resolve wavers dangerously. Isabella, the woman I should detest, stands before me, igniting a flame of desire that threatens to consume my better judgment.
"Release me, you lunatic!" she yells, breaking me out of my improper thoughts.
“Such brave words for someone who’s going to pay for their sins,” I tell her as I unbutton my suit jacket and hand it to one of my men.
“Let me out of here!” she screams again.
I begin taking my cuffs off and rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt as anger takes over. "No. You will tell me what I want to know. I will take great pleasure in torturing the answers from you."
"I don't know anything," she screams.
"You murdered my brother!" I yell.
I walk over to a table and grab a knife, lifting it up to inspect its sharpness. My brother was in pain as the poison made its way through his body. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, and she just stood there while it happened. I turn toward her and walk back with the knife.
"Why did you kill my brother?" I ask.
"I didn't kill him," she answers with fear coating her words.
I grab her by the hair, pull it harshly, and marvel at her yelp of pain. "You murdered him, and you dare lie to me."
The knife digs into her abdomen, slicing, and blood drips down. I bring the knife up and slice across her cheek, piercing her skin, and she winces in pain. My mind shifts as I take in her beautiful features. I don’t want to hurt her. Despite my need for vengeance, to make her pay, I can’t help but feel the attraction to her. I’m battling with my need for retribution and my desire, a battle on equal footing. However, I need answers, and there’s no way I’ll let a pretty face sway me.
"Please, stop," she cries as tears flow down her cheeks. "I had nothing to do with your brother's death."
I don’t hear her words because desire consumes me. Unable to resist the allure of her lips, I lean down and kiss her. Her lips are soft but in a tight line, refusing to move as I kiss her. My grip tightens in her hair, and a small gasp breaks free, opening her mouth and allowing me to dive in. I delve deep, kissing her long and hard. A throat clearing brings me back to the present, and I stiffen.
“Please, let me go,” she whispers through the haze of desire showing in her eyes. “I didn’t do anything.”
I back away and sit the knife down on the table, cursing myself for getting a taste of her delectable lips. "Still telling the same lie? No worries. When this is over, I will have the truth."
I move to sit at my desk in the corner. Two of my men move toward her, ready to extract information, and I have a front-row seat to the show. I give the signal, and they begin. I watch as my men approach her, their faces void of any emotion.
"Why did you kill Jackson?" One asks, his voice is as cold as the icy wind outside.
Isabella grits her teeth against the pain as they start their work. "I... didn't..." she manages to gasp out. Her voice is laced with pain, but there's a hint of defiance that makes me grind my teeth.
"Who are you working for?" The other one growls, his face inches from hers.
She screams in agony, the sound echoing around the room and making me clench my fists. When she answers, her voice is steady. "No one. I didn't kill your brother."
It's infuriating.
"Who paid you to poison him?" I find myself barking out the question before standing from my chair and striding over to her.
She flinches as I get closer, but her eyes meet mine with a stubbornness that takes me aback. "No one... no one... I didn't do it."
I stare at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air between us. I can't, won't believe her. She's lying. She has to be. My men continue their work, and her screams fill the room once more.
The men continue their relentless assault on Isabella, not asking any more questions but plainly inflicting pain. I watch as her body absorbs each blow, her skin marred with cuts and bruises, blood seeping from various places. There's a sick satisfaction in the pit of my stomach, a desperate hope that this treatment will make her sing the truth next time.
Her screams are a song of pain and terror, and each note she belts out sharpens my thirst for vengeance. I know my men aren’t using their full force, but they make sure to inflict enough pain, nonetheless. With a terse nod, I signal my men to resume their questioning. She must crack sooner or later, and when she does, her confessions will be the sweetest melody to my ears.
One question catches me off guard. "Are you the informant?" one of my men asks, and Isabella looks at him with genuine confusion.
