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His ice-blue eyes hold mine in an unblinking stare.
“He’s up for a promotion. If you want me to agree to stay with you, you will see he gets it. That shell company you mentioned? You’ll use it to hire Landon to manage some of your money. Enough that his boss will be impressed. I’m not asking you to throw your money away here. His company is good. They’re solid, and they’ve been around for decades. It’ll be a good investment.”
“I’m never giving a cent to that filthy bastard.”
I hold my ground even though I’m exhausted and frightened and want to curl up and cry. I hate when Bastien looks at me the way he is right now. I never could stand having him angry with me. His hatred of me has been one of the worst parts of all of this. But Landon deserves this. It’s the very least I can do for him. “Then I don’t agree to your terms, and your family gets a lot of unwanted scrutiny.”
“You’re pushing your luck.” Bastien’s voice drips with menace, and I shiver.
I turn away. We ride in silence for a while, and the tension is unbearable. My head throbs, and I just want to fall asleep and never wake up.
“Fine,” he says finally. “But believe me, Camille, I’m going to make you pay for every dollar I give him.”
I don’t doubt that for a minute.
CHAPTER21
Camille
It’sthe middle of the night when we arrive at our destination. We glide into a garage and the door slams shut behind us. I follow Bastien into the house, hugging myself in my thin borrowed T-shirt and trying not to feel as if I’ve just made a horrible mistake by agreeing to this.
The house feels like a fortress. The windows are covered with bullet-proof plexiglass. He’s got a security force roaming the house—maybe half a dozen men, all armed. What is he up against? Does this really have something to do with his family?
The interior is beautifully decorated in what I’d call Crate and Barrel style. Clean, neutral furnishings with colors like “heather” and “wheat” and “slate.” It gives me the chills, though. The air crackles with angry energy and a sense of foreboding.
Bastien takes me to his room, which has an enormous bed with a gray-washed wooden headboard and footboard, and a dove gray silken comforter. He’s always had exquisite taste, even when I first met him. In high school, he dressed as if he’d stepped off the pages of a men’s fashion magazine.
The first thing I do is hurry to take a shower. I lock the bathroom door, realizing instantly that it’s a futile gesture. If Bastien wants to come in, he will. Then I blast the water on full strength and try to scrub those men off me, the stain of their revolting hands, the feel of their fingers stabbing up inside me.
I shot a man in the crotch. I heard him squeal. His blood and flesh splattered all over me.I start to heave, and vomit on the floor of the shower, watching as the water washes it down the drain. If only my mind could erase the memory that easily. I cry until there are no tears left to fall. I mortally wounded a man in the most violent way I can conjure in my head. The worst part is that it didn’t kill him right away. I’m sure that Bastien finished the job. How do I feel about that? Numb and empty and frightened.
I’m not sure how long I sit on that shower floor, but when I’m done, I go through the motions in a fog. I hardly remember seeing a bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and putting it on. I vaguely recall leaving my crumpled T-shirt on the floor. Any other time, it would be an utterly petty gesture since Bastien hates disorder, but not now. Not in the state I’m in.
I slink into his room, ready to fall into bed, when the fog lifts at the site of Bastien sitting at a desk looking at something on a large laptop. He’s stripped down to his boxer shorts. His body on full display. It’s magnificent. There’s not an ounce of fat on him, his biceps beautifully curved. His broad chest tapers down to a narrow waist and flat stomach. He’s got just enough of a six-pack to look sexy, but not like an over exaggerated bodybuilder.
I’m instantly annoyed that it’shimand the sight of his half-naked body that pulls me from my haze.
He shuts the laptop and gestures at me. “Get in bed,” he snaps, and it instantly irritates me.
“I want to sleep in my own room.”
“All the more reason for you to sleep here. And take that bathrobe off.”
“No!” I hug it around me.
He’s on me in an instant, stripping me so fast I barely have time to breathe. He hauls me over to his bed and with one hand on my throat, holds me down. He shucks his boxer shorts, freeing his enormous length. I hear him pulling something from the nightstand, and I struggle. When I hear something buzzing I freeze.
What is he going to do to me?
He holds up a large studded vibrator.
A part of me relaxes when I realize that’s all it is, but I refuse to obey him on command.
“No, I won’t!” I’ll fight him to my death if that’s what it takes to get him to back down.
But when he releases my throat and moves down between my legs, I part my thighs for him and whimper in pleasure as he forces it inside me. It’s so big I can barely accommodate it, and the nubs rub against my tight inner sheath, but the vibrating sensation is heaven.
Damn him for making me weak.
