by W Winters
His hand splays on my ass, immediately heating my core as I hear the jingle of keys. Craning my neck, I get the first view of where he’s taken me.
A house in the forest. A big fucking house, to boot. It’s three stories with white stone leading all the way up. My body reacts on its own; the need to run takes over, as if I could still run, cuffed like I am.
“Don’t struggle.” Jase’s words come out hard, and I bite down harder on the inside of my cheek to keep from telling him to go fuck himself. If I could struggle, really struggle, I would.
He holds me tighter with both of his hands this time, and the sharp metal of the keys digs into my thigh. Even when I keep myself perfectly still, he doesn’t let go.
With a tight throat and resentment flowing through my veins I attempt to answer him, but I can’t think of anything to say. Maybe it’s the blood pooling in my head, or maybe it’s the pain finally taking over, but I have to close my eyes just to keep from passing out. The moment I do, he takes his hand away and I hear the keys scrape into the lock along with a beep from something that startles my eyes open, followed by the telltale sound of a door opening.
The beep… There’s some sort of alarm beyond the key. It’s then that I see my purse swinging. He brought it with him, and I force myself to think about everything in that bag that can be used as a weapon.
Knowing that and gathering information keeps me calm. Anything that can help me fight.
The warmth is welcoming, even as I bid farewell to the forest that leads somewhere to freedom. I intend for the goodbye to be temporary anyway.
I don’t expect him to be careful as he sets me down in what looks like a foyer. But he is.
Thud. My heart flinches as the jangle of keys being tossed somewhere to my right hits me. And then I see him again.
His back is to me as he removes his jacket, revealing more of him. Everything is in place. The cuff links, the neatly trimmed hair on the back of his neck. He screams wealth, power… sex appeal.
My eyes close slowly at the thought, hating myself for recognizing that primal urge. They open just as slowly when his footsteps grab my attention. Even the sound of his steps hints of elite status. He walks toward me and my eyes stay on his, even though the depth of his stare dares me to defy him.
My stupid heart races, dying to get away.
He makes me feel weak and I hate him for it.
“I hate you.” The hoarse words come from my throat unbidden. The fact that they only make him smirk as he crouches in front of me, pisses me off that much more. It hurts, though. I can’t deny it does more than aggravate me to be at the mercy of this man.
Craning my neck and straightening my back so I can bring my eyes to his level only forces more weight onto my hands.
I seethe through clenched teeth, giving away the pain and that’s when he breaks his stare.
I turn away from him to my right as he reaches behind me and uncuffs my hands first. He reaches for the pair on my ankles, but pauses.
“How much?” he asks me, his voice deep and husky.
My gaze flickers to his as I pull my hands into my chest, my fingers gripping around the small cuts, trying to rub some feeling back into my wrists. I hesitate only for a moment, confused by his question. “How much what?”
“How much do you hate me?” he asks, and my heart does it again. It scrambles in my rib cage, wanting so desperately to escape. The heart is a wild thing, meant to be caged after all.
I try to swallow, swallow down the spiked lump, but I can hardly do it. Staring into his eyes, I answer him, “It depends.”
“On what?” he asks, letting his fingers drift over the metal cuffs, his eyes roaming from mine down my body. He tilts his head, looking back at me once again when I answer, “Whether you tell me the truth or not.”
Thump, thump. My heart hates me.
“You’re in no position to question me.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” Somehow my words come out evenly; controlled and daring. I revel in it as his dark eyes flash with the heat of a challenge, but then he moves his hand away from the cuffs, the small key still resting in his palm.
I could try to reach for it, but I wait.
When he peers down at me, I stare back without flinching, but the second his eyes are off of me, my gaze scatters across every inch of this place. Every window, every door. Every way out.
“You’re not getting out of here until I let you out,” Jase says absently when he catches me. So casually, as if he doesn’t care.
My lips purse as I wait for more from him. If he thinks I won’t try to get out, he’s dead fucking wrong.
“You don’t believe me?” he asks with a trace of humor lingering in his tone. I can feel my heartbeat slow, my blood getting colder with each passing second.
“There’s always a way out.” My words come out low, barely spoken, but he hears them and shakes his head before crouching in front of me again.
“Every window and door requires a fingerprint and a code, Bethany.” The way he says my name sounds sinful on his tongue. I wish he’d take it back. I don’t want him to speak my name at all.
My jaw clenches as I take in this new information and then ask him, “What do you want from me? Are you going to kill me?” The second question catches in my throat.
He runs the pad of his thumb along his stubbled jaw and then up to his lips, bringing my eyes to the movement as he says, “I went to your house with decent enough intentions. I wanted to tell you that you weren’t going to get anywhere and whatever rabbit you were chasing was only going to lead you down a dead-end road and get you hurt, or worse.”
I have to grab on to my fingers, squeezing them as tight as I can to keep from slamming my fists into his chest, to keep from slapping him or from punching him in his fucking throat as he gets closer to me.
“I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I’m sorry about your sister,” he says and my stomach drops, it drops so quickly and so low I feel sick. “I don’t know how she died and I sure as shit didn’t play a part in her death…” He pauses and inches closer to me, a hint of sympathy playing at his lips before he adds, “She owed us far too much money for me to kill her.”
Dread is all-consuming as he stands, leaving me with a chill and turning his back to me. “I was being nice, giving you a warning and then you tried to shoot me.”
He takes three steps away, three short steps while staring down at his own shoes as if contemplating. The hard marble floors feel colder and more unforgiving as I struggle with whether or not I believe him.
He’s a bad man. Jase Cross, all of the Crosses are bad men. I don’t believe him. I believe what Jenny told me.
She’d said the name Cross over and over again. Cross and The Red Room were my only real clues to go by. At that thought, there’s a prickle at the back of my neck and I struggle to stay calm as the exhaustion, the sorrow, and the hate war with each other.
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper weakly but with his back to me, he doesn’t hear me.
“I’ll be nice again. Only because you remind me of someone I once knew.” Looking up through my lashes, I wait for him to continue.
His dark eyes pierce me, seeing through me and causing both the need to beg for mercy and the need to spit on him, simply for not having the answers I crave.
“If you’re lying to me… you’ll pay,” I utter and keep going. “I’ll… I’ll,” I attempt a threat, but my last word cracks before I can finish.
Without warning, Jase closes the distance between us in foreboding steps I both loathe and refuse to be intimidated by. So I react. All I’ve been doing is reacting. I spit in his face the second he lowers himself to tell me off.
The shock from what I did is enough to outweigh the fear as Jase wipes his face, his expression morphing into fury as he stares at my spit in his hand.
Before I can say anything, he grips my throat. His large, hot hand wraps tightly around my neck, and my own hands reach up t
o his in a feeble attempt to rip his fingers off of me.
The heat from his body engulfs my own as I struggle to breathe. My nails dig into his fingers. His body is heavy against me, practically burning me. His entire being overshadows mine with power.
“I’ll allow you to ask questions,” he says and pauses, letting the air leave my lungs and the panic starts to take over, thinking there’s no air to fill them, “but you will never,” he pauses again for emphasis, staring into my eyes as they burn while he concludes, “threaten me again.” Small lines form at the corners of his eyes as he narrows them, gazing at me and squeezing just a little tighter. So tight it hurts, and I struggle, scratching at my own throat in an effort to pry his grip loose.
My head feels light as my body sways in his grasp.
Just as I think he’s going to kill me, that I’ll die like this, he releases me.
Heaving in deep gulps of air, my shoulders hunch over.
I practically suffocate on the sudden rush of oxygen. My clammy palms hit the cold floor and my body rocks on its own.
“Don’t make me regret this, Bethany.” He does it again, saying my name like he had to spit it out of his mouth.
I grind my teeth against one another so hard that my jaw aches from the pressure. I have to stare intently at the spiral staircase behind him to keep from saying anything.
Time passes, the ticking of my heart somehow finding its normal rhythm once again in the silence.
“Your sister owed a debt, and you’re going to pay it.”
Jase
Lies. I hear the word in my head over the sound of the armoire crashing to the bedroom floor. I turn the speakers down, but continue to watch her trash the guest bedroom.
I’m not surprised she’s destroying everything she can.
As I dragged her to the guest bedroom, she never stopped fighting, and I never stopped hearing the hiss in my head. Lies.
Never tell a lie, my younger brother, Tyler, once told me. I was fucking around with him about something when we were kids. I don’t remember what, but he looked up at me and the words he spoke stuck with me forever.
A lie you have to remember. So never lie, it will only fuck you over.
I can still see the smug look grow on his face as I felt the weight of his words. He was an old soul and had a good heart. Never tell a lie. He’d be ashamed of the man I became.
The screaming that comes from the faint sound of the speakers brings me back to now, back to the present where I keep fucking up.
One mistake after the other, falling like dominos.
I stare at her form on the screen as she pounds her fists against the door, screaming to be let go. Bethany Fawn’s throat is going to hurt tonight. It already sounds sore and raw from her fighting.
It’s useless. Part of me itches to hit the release on her door to let her roam throughout my wing, struggling with every locked window, with the doors that will never open for her. Just to prove a point.
I can’t blame her though and as she falls to her knees, violently wiping away the tears under her eyes as if they’re a badge of dishonor, I hurt for her. For the woman she is, and for the woman I once knew who did the same thing.
She fought too. She fought and she lost.
It’s so easy to hide behind anger, but it gets you nowhere. I can help her though. I need this too. The very thought of what I could do for her makes my blood ring with desire.
“I hate you!” Bethany’s words are barely heard through the speaker, seeing as how I’ve turned them down so low.
In an attempt to ignore the thoughts and where they’re headed, I check my phone and notice a flurry of texts, coming one after the other.
I text my brother, Carter, back without reading much of what he wrote. I’m busy. Can we talk tonight?
His response is immediate. We need to talk about how we’re going to deal with this situation.
This situation … meaning Romano. The next name on a list of men I’ll put ten feet in the ground.
A grunt barely makes its way through my clenched teeth as I write him back. Push him out of his window, his own property.
Let his body fall onto the spiked fence surrounding his estate.
Make an example of him.
I keep messaging him as the thoughts come, one line after the other.
Carter’s answer doesn’t come for longer than I’d like. My gaze is drawn again to Bethany, lying exhausted on the floor, and covering her face to hide the pain.
Fuck. I don’t know how the hell it came to this.
Finally, he answers. It’s not that easy. There are complications.
I stare at my phone, but my attention is brought back to the security monitors when Bethany finally stands, making her way to the bed. She stares at the door for a long time, sitting cross-legged and tense.
Jase, we need to wait for this one.
I don’t have time for complications. I don’t have patience for this. I don’t have a desire for any of this. He should be dead already.
I turn off the phone, unwilling to spend another second dealing with this shit.
I want to get lost and find myself somewhere else.
Glancing at the screen, I watch Bethany pull a book into her lap. She must’ve gotten it from her purse. I went through the contents of her bag before I retrieved her from the trunk. Everything’s there, except for her keys and a pen. I’ve seen both used in more violent ways than one could imagine.
She brushes the hair away from her face, showing me her vulnerability as she closes her eyes, and calms herself down.
I can get lost in her.
I lock the door to my office as I make my way to her, letting the keys clink against one another. My thumb runs along the jagged teeth of the key to the guest room as I think about stealing the fight from her, dragging it out of her and giving her so much more.
I’m careful with the lock, even more careful as I silently push open the door to her room. I don’t stop at a crack, I keep pushing until the door is wide open and I can easily step through the threshold. It’s quiet, so quiet in fact, that at first I don’t see her.
Her small form is still on the bed, and only the sound of a page turning alerts me to where she is. With the overturned dresser, splintered wood and ripped curtains, she could have been hiding anywhere in here.
She ripped out every drawer. She threw two across the room, denting the drywall and cracking the walnut furniture.
Fragments of wood litter a corner of the room where she demolished a drawer, slamming it on top of another.
What a waste of energy. She should’ve saved it for this moment.
Instead the poor girl is still, curled up in a ball, and has her nose buried in the book.
She still doesn’t see me, not even as I take a step forward, carefully stepping over a broken drawer.
The empty dresser, thick damask curtains and neatly made bed with bright white linens were all that were in the room. And now the fabric is heaped on the floor, the curtains ripped from the oil-rubbed bronze finishings and the armoire is … wrecked.
And little Miss Bethany sits in the middle of the bed, worn out and oblivious.
Her hair’s a chaotic halo around her shoulders. The faint light from the setting sun casts a shadow around her, but it highlights her hair and when she tucks a strand behind her ear, it hits her face. Her fair skin’s so smooth, it tempts me to brush my fingertips against it. The light falls to the dip in her neck, to the hollow there and it dares me to kiss her in that spot.
My cock hardens as I wonder what sounds would spill from her lips if I were to do just that.
“Looks like you had some fun.” My voice comes out harder than I anticipated, startling her. She practically screams and slams her book shut as her body jostles.
She stands abruptly, backing off of the bed and clutching the book to her side as she squares her shoulders. “Let me go.”
The huff comes back to me, but this time it’s with a hint of humor.
/> “You’re good at making demands when you have no authority, aren’t you?” I question her, feeling a smirk play at my lips.
Silence. It’s so fucking silent in this room, I think I can hear her heart pounding.
“Did you think destroying your room would … upset me?” I ask her with a deliberate casual tone to my question. Rounding the bed, moving closer to her, I kick a scrap of broken wood away from me. I follow her gaze as she glances at it, and then to the chunk of wood she left on the bed where she was sitting.
“Leave it there.” I give her the command and watch her resist the urge to lunge toward it.
Her plump lips tug into a feigned smile. It’s faint, but it’s there. She is a fighter. There’s no denying that.
“Did you want to anger me, Bethany?”
She flinches every time I say her name. That hint of a smile vanishes and the smoldering hate returns.
“I don’t care what you do with this room. I won’t be cleaning it up.” I shrug as I add, “I hope it calmed you down to make such a mess.”
With a gentle shake of her head, she huffs a humorless laugh at me then says, “Whatever you do to me, know that it won’t hurt me. Whatever it is, I’ll give you nothing.”
She practically sneers her words, even as her eyes gloss over.
“We need to come to an agreement, and seeing as how you’ve gotten some of your… displaced anger out of the way-”
“Fuck you. I’m not agreeing on a damn thing with--”
“Not even to get the hell out of here?” I ask and cut her off.
The anger wanes from a boil to a simmer as her glare softens. “Just like that?” she asks skeptically.
“I don’t want to keep you locked up… breaking all my shit.” I make a point of kicking a piece of broken wood to the side. “I didn’t plan this. And I want something else.”
“So you’re going to just let me go?”
“Once we come to an agreement, that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”
Shock lights her eyes, but so does skepticism.
“Do you think you can be reasonable this time?” I ask her, feeling I have the upper hand via the element of surprise.
