Hewants me to suffer. I realize with shock.
Maybe I’ve read him entirely wrong. What if he is far more fucked up than I thought? Maybe he takes girls in, seduces them, tortures them and gets off on killing them.
I’ve heard stories, everyone has, about how rich people get so bored because they have more money than they know what to do with - so they look for other thrills. And those thrills usually involve treating other people like toys.
What if I’ve completely misread his attraction and all it is a desire to use me until there is nothing left?
Panic begins to surge violently inside me.
Now, when I should kick and fighting to free myself - I’m frozen with fear. No one even knows where I am. I didn’t give my mother the address. I didn’t tell anyone who I really work for.
He could do anything he wanted to me, he could make me disappear and no one would come after him.
No wonder he didn’t care that I took such a huge amount of money from him - it’s because he was going to get his money’s worth in the games, he planned to play with me.
I cry, terrified, confused, wondering how I got it all so horribly wrong.
An hour goes by, and the fear, anger, and adrenaline coursing through my blood starts to exhaust me. I close my eyes, focusing on my breathing, and at some point, I fall asleep. I don’t know how I fell asleep, but it must have been from the overwhelming stream of emotions coursing through me.
I wake up to the sound of my name on his lips.
“Misha, my little pet.” His voice trickles with darkness. The sound of it haunting me, taunting me and despite theunderstanding that I am in a lot more trouble than I thought, it still turns my body on like a raging furnace.
“Vincent, please - I’m sorry—” I plead right away, but he steps forward and shoves a gag in my mouth, strapping a leather harness around the back of my head to lock it in place. I scream against it, terrified, not wanting to die like this. But the sound is muffled and useless.
Vincent steps back and slips a knife from his belt.
I can’t move.
I can’t even breathe as a devilish smile spreads across his lips.
To my absolute horror my pussy is throbbing with desire.
How does he still look so fucking hot when he’s about to kill me?
Why does this turn me on?
My heart is beating so fast I might pass out.
Vincent stands over me. Dark pants. No shirt. His stomach muscles ripple when he laughs quietly.
“You look scared, little raven. It’s about time you understood who was in charge.” His voice runs over me like boiling hot caramel, sticking to my skin, burning me.
I try to speak against the gag but nothing coherent comes out.
I don’t want to die.I beg with my eyes locked onto his.
He leans over me, his arms flexing as he slips the blade beneath the edge of my t-shirt, right over my belly button. I freeze, not daring to move.
The silver edge slices the fabric as though it was nothing. Brushing against it and splitting it open as gently as a breath of air falling from my lips.
Tears spill from the corners of my eyes and run down the side of my face.
Vincent’s eyes are glittering blue pools, like ice waters deep underground, undiscovered secrets that will never come to the surface.
He presses his fist, gripping the handle of the knife, into the pillow next to my head and with his other hand he grabs my throat and pulls my face towards his.
For a second, I have no idea what is about to happen, and my entire body goes rigid with the expectation of pain. But he whispers against my gagged lips.
