“There. Now, you’ll talk.”
No, now I’ll lie.
Chapter 4
I’d learned from an early age to use people’s weaknesses against them. Taunting the fragile, mocking the littler. Instead of being told no, I was encouraged. Given the tools to excel in murder, and browbeaten into being the perfect obedient machine.
The moment I set eyes on her, I tasted a delicious combination of fear and strength. Weakness and bravery. Sadness and resignation.
Instincts and needs that I’d buried and ignored volcanoed to the surface. I lost control. I broke every rule and didn’t give a f**k.
She woke a part of me I didn’t know existed—a man not layered in ice and coldblooded disassociation. This new man ached with every inch; he craved heat and fire and lust.
And so I stole her.
And I took her.
Over and over again.
Shit.
How the hell had this happened? This never happened. Never in my life had I submitted to a bodily craving. That sort of thing had been tortured out of me. I didn’t suffer from a lack of discipline.
Ever.
Until now.
The instant I saw her I lost a part of myself. I became drunk on a new sensation. Something about her drew me. I didn’t lust or f**k or need. To be close to another filled me with horror not joy. So why the hell did I want to know her? Why were my thoughts full of nakedness and heat? What the f**k am I doing?
I glanced at her. With her shoulders back and chin thrust forward, she looked like she was headed to war not a conversation. Every step was calm and brave; every motion full of confidence and poise.
The stolen blade hung heavy in my pocket, thudding against my thigh with every step. I’d lost control and kidnapped someone at knife point. Not just anyone—a woman I touched.
I f**king touched her!
I never touched anyone voluntarily unless it was in a fight. It just wasn’t done. My entire life I’d avoided every iota of touch and contact. And yet the instant I wrapped my fingers around her arm, my entire body shuddered with some unseen power filtering from her to me.
It intoxicated me. It bewitched me. It f**king scared me.
Only when I looked directly into her eyes did I taste just how much passion, fear, strength, sadness, and rebellion lived inside her. She was like an unlit firework—contained and neatly packaged on the outside, but a hazardous explosion on the inside.
“I want my knife back,” she murmured, her eyes connecting with mine. All I could think about were emeralds and every green gemstone I’d ever seen. Her eyes mocked my own—whereas I had no colour, she had every spectrum.
“You’re not getting it back till I say you can.” Until I understand this insane drive to touch you.
“You’re not my owner,” she snapped. “This isn’t a discussion. It’s my property, and I want it back. I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m not playing your crazy mind games anymore.”
The familiar strength and rage shot up my spine. Tearing my eyes from hers, I strode faster up the steps.
She took the steps two at a time and brushed past with a cold look. Her shoulder grazed mine. My vision turned red, muscles locked down, and the familiar command to hurt made me tremble. My jaw locked as I fought the orders.
Shit. She isn’t different after all.
My f**king heart sank. I’d chased her, trapped her, and dragged her up here because I’d dared to hope. Dared to believe that I was drawn to her because she might be impervious to my training. That I might be able to touch and be touched.
Turned out I could touch her without falling into old patterns, but she couldn’t touch me.
My heart hardened in disappointment. So she wasn’t my cure after all. I’d hoped—
You’d hoped it was fading. That you could finally live a life where you wouldn’t automatically punch someone in the f**king face or slam a dagger into their heart.
Tough shit.
I doubted I’d ever be free, and that just made me f**king homicidal.
Reaching the top of the stairs, her lips parted as she took in the large landing. Skating her eyes over the table and black couch, she drifted toward the glass perimeter. From here, the arena looked like a modern day version of the coliseum. Men fought in cages and rings, unconscious bodies were tended to by medics. All that was missing were the lions and other exotic animals the Romans used to kill unlucky slaves.
I shared a certain bond with those unfortunate souls.
No one would look at me and think I was slave. But I had been. I still was. I probably would be forever.
I didn’t say a word as she pushed off from the balcony and moved toward a statue of a twisted and gnarly tree.
The sculpture took me eighteen days with barely any sleep to finish. I’d warmed the metal just enough to twist and distort. I turned a pristine lump of bronze into a tortured piece of art. The tree looked like it was heralded by demons and designed by masochists. Its branches only suitable for carcass-eating vultures to perch.
But I liked it. In fact, it was one of my favourite pieces. It represented nothing, but at the same time, everything.
It was me. Bared raw.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, she ran her fingertips over the cold metal. The instant she touched it, my c**k lurched. It f**king lurched for the second time in my sorry existence.
Heat. Delicious wanting heat blazed in my blood. Lust. So unknown and almost unrecognisable. It grabbed me around the balls, making me hard, filling my c**k with new life.
My dick knew better than to act on its own. It’d been taught to never react. Thoughts of release and sex were beaten out of us at a very early age. And if we disobeyed—well…
The fear had kept me impotent, but this woman—this magical infuriating woman—had graced me with a f**king hard-on. I gritted my teeth, revelling in the sensitivity as I swelled, thickened, and ached with unfamiliar need. The flush of heat boiled the ice in my blood, leaving me steaming, angry, and on the cusp of something entirely alien.
Two years I’d waited for the thawing, and for two years it never happened. But tonight. Tonight, all thanks to one woman, I might’ve found the chink—the weakness—in my brainwashing.
She bent her spine, investigating the artwork closely. My balls drew tighter, throbbing.
Her body beckoned me. She was different, elusive, unobtainable. And my c**k wanted unobtainable. For the first time since my life of slavery began, it came alive between my legs.
I didn’t think I could stand the craving. It was too strong—too demanding.