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“Not my fault that after eighteen years you still don’t know the difference between a squeeze and your asshole,” Haelstrom retorted, his gaze riveted on mine.
The others laughed and chimed in.
“I’ll give her a hand,” Haelstrom announced, pushing his chair back.
The conversation didn't stop, barely missed a beat before someone muttered something and the laughter began once more.
“Burbank, it’s your turn to deal,” my father said, chuckling.
“It’s always my damn turn.”
“That’s because you suck at it and you need the damn practice,” Luge grumbled with a smile.
Six men sat around the table and not one of them said a word as Haelstrom bowed out, placing his hand on my father’s shoulder as he passed. My jaw tightened at the movement. I forced my gaze away as that fire came to life inside me.
No…I growled inside.Not now.
In the deep, infernal belly of my desperation, the fire spluttered. I didn’t care about the hand on my father’s shoulder, or about the way they watched me as I turned and left, taking one step after another as I headed toward the room where my father kept his supplies.
The warm spring sunlight didn’t reach these halls. Shadows laid claim to this part of the house. Heavy black curtains were forever drawn, the air thick and stale. Footsteps followed me, lingering long enough for the slow slide of the double doors to close and the laughter and the chiding dulled.
I lowered my gaze, my heartbeat racing.
There were no words spoken, not when I turned the handle of the room at the far end of the hallway, or when I left the door open and stepped inside. The door closed behind me a second later and the lock clicked into place.
But that fire flared to life once more. Sparks of panic leaped inside me as I stopped at the marble counter at the far end of the room. A wooden box held my father’s cigars, crates of his finest whiskey stored against the wall. My hand shook as it rose. But it was far too late now…far too late as the heavy thud of his footsteps neared.
The tops of perfectly shined shoes came into view as I lowered my gaze.
“I missed you in there,” he murmured against my ear.
The low timbre of the throaty sound rolled through me like a wave. I couldfeelevery syllable, hitting places it shouldn’t. Still, it did, drawing out the kind of heat in me that made me writhe with disgust. I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want to be controlled. Not like this…neverlike this. But this is what they called conditioning, right? This was the danger of the hunt.
He reached inside his jacket and placed something on the counter. The flash of white made me recoil.
“You always were my favorite.” Haelstrom brushed strands of hair from my nape. “So cold.” Warm lips pressed against my skin. “So unreachable.”
His fingers skimmed the thin strap of my dress, hooking it with his finger before the slow slide. I swallowed the shudder, my insides clamping with heat.
“How much longer, Katerina?” he whispered, and dragged the strap low. “How much longer will you refuse me?”
For as long as I can.
I closed my eyes, hating the hunger as I lifted my gaze to the white mask on the counter.
The one that both taunted and terrified me, the one I’d seen my entire life.
The one I hated and craved at the same time.
Sick…I was sick.
The dark rot invaded and infected…just like his touch.
“You will be mine,” Haelstrom whispered as the long slide of my zipper filled the room. “One way or another. That I promise.”
4
Lazarus
