Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I should feel something more than satisfaction. Horror, maybe. Guilt. These were human beings, and now they’re locked in a basement because of choices I made. Because I picked up that knife and drove it through Leroy’s hand.
But all I feel is relief. They can’t hurt anyone else now. Can’t kill another father in front of his daughter.
“Is that where you went?” I ask. “To get them?”
“Just the three who joined us for dinner. Leroy, Jack, and Victor.” Blue opens a dresser drawer, rifling through whatever’s inside. “Hans got word on where they were hiding. After what happened in the greenhouse, I thought the least I could do was bring you a gift.”
Three of the five from my list. Leroy with his gold tooth. Victor with his limp. And Jack in his expensive suit—the one who gave all the orders that night.
“And the others? The rest of the Crow?”
“Still breathing, unfortunately. But not for long.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “One problem at a time.”
The matter-of-fact way he discusses hunting down the remaining members of a criminal organization should probably worry me. Instead, it makes me feel safer than I have since Dad died.
“Blue, about earlier.” I start, then stop when I realize I’m not sure which earlier incident needs to be addressed first. The snooping through his private floor, the sex, the stabbing, or the fainting. “I mean, about the third floor. I’m sorry I went up there when you specifically asked me not to.”
He pauses in his search through the dresser drawers, his back still to me. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Sorry.” He turns to face me. “Because breaking into locked areas of my house means you’re either not sorry at all, or you’re sorry you got caught.”
The distinction shouldn’t matter, but somehow it does. “I was curious. I was exploring this massive place and . . . well, I’ve never been good at being told no.”
“And what exactly did you discover during your unauthorized exploration?”
“A lot of locked doors and a serious addiction to decorative keys.” I try for lightness, but his stare is too intense. “I didn’t actually get into any of the rooms.”
“No, you didn’t.” His tone is conversational, but there’s steel underneath. “Although not for lack of trying.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I said I was sorry.”
“You did.” Blue opens another drawer, his movements deliberate. “But breaking rules has consequences, Saylor. And a punishment is in order.”
“Punishment?” I let out a short laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
Instead of answering, he reaches into the drawer and pulls out something that makes my brain stutter to a complete stop.
Handcuffs.
Not toy handcuffs from some novelty store, but real ones. Heavy steel with chain links. He holds them casually, testing the weight in his palm.
“Wait, what?” I scramble backward on the bed until my spine hits the headboard. “What are those for?”
“Your punishment.”
“For examining locked doors?”
“For disobeying a direct request when I specifically asked you to stay away.” Another step closer. “For breaking into areas of my house that are explicitly off-limits.”
“I didn’t break into anything. I just examined . . .”
“You tried every door handle in that hallway.” His voice drops lower. “You knelt down to peer through a keyhole. You invaded my privacy after I specifically asked you not to.”
Guilt and arousal war in my chest, creating a cocktail of emotions. He’s right. I did exactly what he’s accusing me of, and I’d probably do it again given the chance.
“What are you going to do with those?” I nod toward the handcuffs, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Whatever I want.” The promise makes me clench my thighs together. “I warned you I don’t do gentle. I’m not the vanilla, strawberries-and-champagne-by-candlelight kind of guy. The question is whether you’re going to make this easy or difficult.”
I stare at him—standing there half-naked with handcuffs, having just captured three people—and realize I’m not afraid. An ordinary girl would be scared shitless, but what I feel is anticipation.
“That depends,” I say. “Are you planning to hurt me?”
“Only in ways you’ll enjoy.”
The way he says it makes something clench deep inside me, urgent and needy and completely at odds with any rational response to this situation.
“Blue . . .”
“Hands,” he commands, moving close enough that I can smell his shower soap mixed with something I desperately want to lick off him.
I don’t hesitate, not really. I flatten my palms together, wrists daintily crossed and held out in front of me like a damsel or a saint awaiting the sword.
The metal is icy against my skin, biting down when he clicks the restraint shut.
“Up,” Blue says, and hooks his fingers under my chin. The mood in his eyes is menacing, but I don’t look away.
Then his towel is gone, peeled off and tossed to the floor. His cock is impossibly thick and hard already, flushed at the tip, and the sight of him standing over me, fully naked and utterly in control, flips some secret breaker in the caveman part of my brain.