Page 46 of Marked By His Touch
“You look lovely,Anya, even with—ropes,” he says, straightening his tie, his voice smooth as silk. “Or especially with ropes.”
“Fuck off—” I spit.
“You learn your place—-in time—”
I don’t answer, my pulse thrumming in my temples. He leans down, his fingers nimble as he undoes the knots, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“Let’s get you out of these,da?” he says, ensuring I see the gun inside his jacket pocket. Oh, so charming. So polite. He’s playing a game, and I’m unsure what the rules are.
He leads me down a hallway past a series of closed doors. I smell exotic perfumes, a heady mix of musk and spices that make me feel trapped. The door on the right at the end of the hallway swings open, revealing a scene that makes me step back into his arms.
“Easy,Anya,” he chuckles and pushes me inside the room.
It’s a beautifully appointed room, unlike the rest of the club. The walls are lined with silk drapes, creating a sense of intimacy and seclusion. A table laden with exquisite silver and crystal is set with a romantic elegance that feels jarring and out of place. Candles flicker, their soft glow casting a warm, inviting light that feels like a trap.
There’s a bed in there, too. And on the bed is a stunning crimson dress draped, a silken invitation to seduction that makes me shiver.
“This is where we— know each other much better,milyya,” Nikolai says. His English is broken, a tool of control, a way to make me feel off-balance. He gestures to the table, his smile suggestive.
Two of his men decked out in suits that scream, “I’m here to intimidate,” follow us into the room. They plant themselves by the door, their faces locked in a stony stare, making it clear that this is a one-way trip.
“What is this place?” I ask, my voice tight, my gaze darting around the room. “A bed next to a dinner table? Tell me the truth.”
Ava, you know the truth.
“A place—dream come true,Anya.”
I shiver. He’s a wolf, and this is his hunting ground. He’s playing me, manipulating me.
He gestures to the bed and the dress laid out—a beautiful, silky red dress, deep cut and long. It’s like a visual representation of the power he wants to exert over me.
“I don’t want your dress," I say, trying to maintain my composure. "I don’t—I don’t want any of this."
“We need—talk—each other. You and me,” Nikolai says.
“No,” I say. "I don't want to play your sick game.”
“Do you want your friends—in pain— if you do not talk?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, displaying a grainy image. A woman, her eyes filled with fear, is bound and gagged, a guard standing behind her, a blade glinting in his hand.
No, no, no.He's using them, playing a cruel game—the game of a monster. My heart plummets, a sickening feeling spreading through me. He's playing with my emotions, twisting the knife deeper.He's a master manipulator.
A burning rage ignites within me. "You wouldn't dare," I say.
"I would do anything for—to keep close to you,Anya," he whispers.
I look at the dress, the exquisite table, and the flickering candles. And I see a trap. A twisted, elaborate trap.
But I'm not going to be his victim. I have to play him in his court.I have to make him believe. And then, I have to strike like a sniper. Just like Zara taught me. Zara—Zara, the traitor. I forgot about her in my rush, my panic. I thought I found an ally, a friend, maybe. And instead, I got stabbed in the back. I long to plant a fist in her pretty face for pretending. But not now.First, I need to play part one.
I move towards the bed, my steps slow and deliberate, a tiny rebellion against his control. My gaze locks with his; it’s like a silent duel. I feel the two other men in the room. They watch me, their faces blank, their eyes filled with a predatory anticipation that makes my skin crawl. They're here to make sure I stay put, to make sure I don't try anything stupid.
I pick up the dress. It is silk, cool and smooth against my fingertips, and its scent of wild roses is intoxicating. It's a beautiful dress designed to accentuate my curves. He wants to see me as a plaything, a doll he can dress up and break.
I reach for the makeup on the table, my hands trembling slightly. I apply the lipstick, the rouge, the powder, my movements slow and calculated, a facade of compliance. He wants me to play the role, to be his submissive.
Nikolai watches me from the corner of the room, his eyes a deep, knowing brown. He smirks as I transform myself.
I feel exposed, vulnerable. Still, a fire burns within me; all I need is to ignite the ember. I keep my face neutral, my gaze is unwavering.I am a warrior. I am Ava Parker.I repeat the mantra.
