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His mouth ticks up in a flash of amusement before he continues. “I declined. It didn’t feel right. I didn’t earn it. But the next year… the next year was mine. I tracked a herd of elk for hours. And when my father warned me against taking my shot, telling me it was too risky, I pulled the trigger. And I went home with the biggest kill anyone in our family had bagged in decades.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Mikhail’s eyes flare for a second. Then I’m snatched off the floor and thrown flat against the wall. His hand is banded around my throat so tightly I can’t breathe. Black dots form on the edges of my vision.
“I don’t need you to be impressed,” he growls. “I don’t need anyone to shoot you in the leg and cripple you for me, Cordelia. Because I’ve tracked you down. I’ve cornered you. And whether you like it or not, you’re going to be the prettiest fucking trophy I’ve ever caught.”
I stretch onto my toes, straining for air. For just a single breath.
Just as I feel my eyes rolling back in my head, Mikhail lets go.
I slide down the wall, gasping. But he doesn’t let me get far. Before I can fall to the carpet, he pins me to the wall with his body. I feel every inch of how much he’s enjoying this moment against my thigh.
“I waited for you, Cordelia,” he whispers harshly, “because I don’t want a half-dead coyote. I don’t want some simpering, easy whore who has been delivered to me on a silver platter. I want to work for it.”
“First time for everything,” I rasp.
His body shoves even closer to mine as he glares down at me. “One day, you’re going to give me everything I want. You’re going to hand it to me with a smile on your face. And that’s when I’ll know I’ve won. But until then…” He slides his hand down my waist and grips my hip. “… I’ll take what I can get.”
The reality of what he’s going to do slams down on me like a cartoon anvil hanging over my head.
Mikhail is going to rape me.
Here and now, in my childhood room, he is going to rape me.
With rough hands, he hitches my leg over his hip and grinds into me with painful thrusts. His teeth scratch across my neck and my collarbone hard enough that I’m sure he’s drawing blood.
“I thought you wanted to earn it,” I gasp, doing my best to hold him off.
He fists my shirt in his hands. I hear stitches popping. “I will. I’m going to.”
“Then don’t take it now.”
I’m about to black out with panic. I can feel my mind slipping away, tucking into some secret, safe space in my brain. I can’t fight him, so I have to get through this. I have to grit my teeth and bear it.
But Mikhail’s grip loosens.
I peek an eye open. I wouldn’t say it is remorse on his face, but it’s a new expression I haven’t seen before. And I jump on it.
“If you’re so sure you’re going to win me over, then wait,” I say, breathless. “You’ve waited this long. Give it some more time.”
He huffs in frustration. “I’ve been too patient.”
“Doing this now will only make things harder. I’ll… I’ll never forgive you.”
He looks down at me, and I can see in his pale eyes that he really thinks there’s a chance I won’t always hate him. The psychopath thinks he has a shot at winning me over one day.
That scrap of insanity is scarier than anything else that has happened so far.
He lets me go and steps back. There’s a bulge at the front of his pants that I pointedly ignore.
“Remember this,” he says. “Remember that I… I controlled myself. I waited.”
Like fuck he did. The only reason he isn’t raping me right now is because I stopped him.
But I stay quiet and nod. “Okay.”
He reaches out and cups my cheek. His palm is clammy against my skin, and I want to cringe away. But I don’t. I need him to believe there’s hope.
