He watched me for a long second, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Prove it.”

I didn’t even want to consider how he wanted me to do that. The options were vast and all degrading. Holding his gaze, I waited—just waited for him to tell me what he wanted. Probably to get on my knees and blow him.

“Beg for it.”

Revulsion spread through me like acid. I’d rather blow him; I could wash that humiliation out of my mouth. But begging? It was a vulnerability I wouldn’t and couldn’t give. Words were a straight shot to the soul. I may not be free, but my soul was still mine.

I despised him for making me do this, for dragging me down to this level. With that fire, something hot, foreign, and unrelenting rose to the surface.

Our gazes held in thick tension, his unfeeling, mine fighting to hide the violence within. I stepped off the window seat, one long leg at a time, and then I lowered to my knees. When I slowly crawled toward him, Ronan’s eyes narrowed in heat and suspicion. So jaded. So astute.

“Is this what you want?” My voice sounded different, dipped in lingerie and seduction.

His penetrating stare followed my every movement, the low words a rumble of pleasure. “It’s a start.”

The sounds of my knees and hands on the floor, the steady beat of my heart, and the sweet thrash of our vengeance filled the room. I crawled between his spread legs and ran my face against his pants like a humble pet. He was hard. The sadist was getting off on this.

His inked fingers rested on his knee, and I caressed them with my cheek. He opened his hand and practically rumbled with satisfaction when I stroked the side of my face against his palm.

“Please,” I begged, sliding my hand over his erection and up his chest, my next words harsh, “go fuck yourself.”

I shoved him as hard as I could.

The chair tipped backward to the floor, taking its master with it. Wood splintered beneath his weight, and his growl vibrated through the room. Heart twisting in my throat, I was on my feet, but he spun out of the fall to grab my ankle and pull me down. I hit the floor so hard, all the breath whooshed out of me.

“Kotyonok.” It was a chuckle bit behind clenched teeth. “You’ve fucked up.”

He dragged me backward, and I clawed at the Persian rug to find purchase. My shirt slid to my waist, baring naked skin. I knew I couldn’t let him get me underneath him, or this fight would be over. Releasing my grip on the rug to feign surrender, I gasped, “I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not,” he growled. “You just know you’ve lost.”

He didn’t expect a good fight from me. I was a girl going up against a battle-hardened man. But now I didn’t have a concussion. Now I had hatred burning a hole through my stomach. I couldn’t control these pent-up feelings, and when I had the right angle, they lashed out.

“You’re right,” I admitted. “I’m not even a little sorry.”

Throwing my elbow back, I hit something hard. Pain radiated through my arm. He hissed, but his grip on my ankle only tightened. The bastard must be made of fire and brimstone.

Suddenly, he released me. I didn’t stop to wonder why he was letting me go; I took the opportunity to crawl to the door and scramble to my feet.

When I collided with a man in the hall, his rifle dropped to the floor.

“Chto za khren’,” the guard cursed, grabbing ahold of me.

A hot rush of adrenaline took over, reducing me to flesh and bone and the fight for survival. I was almost as tall as him, so I used my height to headbutt him in the face. Vision dimming, an ache shot through my skull at the sickening crunch of his nose. Before he could retaliate, I shoved my knee into his groin. The guard dropped to the floor with a groan.

It happened within a few seconds. Just a moment in time tipped my morals upside down like the sinking Titanic.

Gripping a fistful of my long hair, the guard jerked me flat on my back to the solid hardwood. The action stunned me for a vulnerable moment.

“Tupaya blyad’,” he gritted. Stupid whore.

When my fingers brushed cold metal, I gripped tight. He straddled my hips, and as he tried to grab the gun from my clammy hands, my fingers slipped. Pop, pop, pop cut through the air. The pops vibrated through my hands and my finger on the trigger. My ears rang. Static pierced the hall and my skin.

His limp and heavy body fell on top of mine, pushing the air from my lungs, and panic turned to hysteria. I was drowning in a mass of motionless limbs, lifeless eyes, and sticky red. A scream tore up my throat, and I shoved him off of me. Blood spread across the floor. I slipped in it while scrambling backward.

Panting, my eyes lifted up, and up.

Ronan stood in the hall, his gaze on the guard’s body while he muttered a toneless, “Well, fuck.”

Warm blood soaked my T-shirt and dripped down my arms and legs. Somehow, I was dazed at the sight: the look in a villain’s eyes when he realized he’d taken a fatal blow. I was the villain now. The terror of what I’d done and the last flare of adrenaline pushed me to my feet.

Ronan’s stare lifted to mine, a warning within. But I was already running down the stairs. Bracing a hand on the wall, I caught myself from slipping in blood. My eyes set on an exit, and when I reached the foyer, I shoved the front doors open and ran outside barefoot, onto the icy circular drive.

I stopped in my tracks, heavy breaths freezing in the air.

Bright lights illuminated the yard guarded by men in every direction, assault rifles held in their grasps. German shepherds prowled through the snow on leashes. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, penetrated by the yips and barks of dogs that jumped in a chain-link enclosure attached to an outbuilding, disturbed by my sudden appearance. If I tried to run, they’d rip me to pieces.

The first tear fell, and hopelessness pulled on my body so heavily, I dropped to my knees. There was no escaping this place. No escaping him, who pushed my morals to the wayside and turned me into someone I didn’t recognize. The truth was, I didn’t know who I was. I’d never really known.

As the wind whipped at my curls, tears ran down my cheeks, and the cold drew its icy fingers over my skin, I felt closer to that girl with dirt on her face and Edgar Allen Poe in her hand than I had in a long time. And that terrified me. Like a single snowflake drifting to Miami’s hot pavement, if I escaped this alive and returned home, I wouldn’t belong.

I remained still when Ronan’s presence touched my back, ready for the torture to begin. He lowered to his haunches in front of me and brushed the tears from my cheek. His words held steady against the breeze that tousled my hair.

“Where is your God now, kotyonok?”

Goose bumps rose to my skin, but they weren’t from the cold. The shiver was out of fear the devil had a soft side. Nothing was more frightening than a whisper beckoning me to step into the dark.

Then he lifted my deadweight and carried me back to hell.

hagridden

(n.) troubled or tormented, as by a witch

If someone asked how I envisioned my five-year life plan, it wouldn’t have included carrying a bloody American back to a guest room where I was keeping her hostage. I had a specific area for hostages in the basement. I also didn’t pick up a woman unless my dick was wet, and the angle was wrong.