I try to hear what he says, try to listen past the thunder of my own heartbeat in my ears. The knife is so carefully balanced, nearly tender against my skin. I shiver helplessly.
“I’m kidnapping you,” he says. “Not helping you. Do you understand?”
I can’t tell if he means that’s what it needs to look like on the cameras…
Or if that’s what he’s actually doing.
I never thought about what would come after I made that call.
Never thought about what it would mean to throw myself into Curse Titone’s power. Possibly forever.
“I understand.”
He puts the knife down for a second, grasping my waist and lifting me to sit on the counter. “Now-”
I drop my phone and snatch the knife, holding the blade up between us.
My hands shake like leaves rattled by a terrible wind. He and I both know I’d never actually be able to use this knife. But at least this way it looks like I’m resisting. I can play into his game.
I can rely on him to be the monster.
I hear his deep inhale. Something writhes at the back of his dark eyes.
“Good,” he murmurs. His hands slide down from my waist to my hips, gripping hard. “But you know I’m going to have to take that from you now.”
Before I can answer or react, he’s forced himself between my thighs, his hands closing quickly around my wrists. He bends over me, backing my spine up against the mirror. I’m still in nothing but the lingerie I was wearing beneath my wedding gown tonight, a sheer boustier with white silk panties. My nipples graze his chest, then prickle and grow taut.
“If I weren’t worried about leaving too much DNA behind,” Curse says, “I’d make you cut me with that.” He tugs hard, drawing the blade towards his own face. I squirm, finally fighting him for real, terrified of the knife actually cutting into him.
“Stop!”
He doesn’t. Not until the blade hovers just in front of his own left eye. I cease moving, holding my breath. If Curse so much as blinks, I’m sure it’ll slice right through his eyelid.
He doesn’t seem to care at all, his gaze fathomless as he stares right through the knife and into me. I wonder if anything has the power to frighten him anymore.
After what feels like forever, I can finally breathe again, because he lowers both my hands to the counter beside my hips. I release the knife at once, sending it clattering to the granite surface. My chest heaves, my breasts dragging across his chest. My legs are spread wide to accommodate his bulk between them.
I notice sudden tension strain the muscles around his eyes the same moment I feel it.
He’s hard.
But a split second after I notice the thick, hot bar of his flesh press against mine, he’s grasping the knife once more and stepping away from me.
“Wash your feet.”
Dazedly, I look down at them, dangling from where I’m sitting on the counter. They’re dark with dried and cracking blood. One by one, I pull them up and put them into the sink. The water swirls around my polished toes, turning a murky and diluted red before disappearing down the drain.
“With soap,” Curse says. “Quickly.”
He’s a little agitated now, which he wasn’t before. He seemed perfectly at ease after slitting Marco’s throat. But now he appears impatient, glancing between me and the bathroom doorway. Like he’s itching to get out of here.
He won’t get any complaints from me. I don’t want to spend one more second in this fucking house.
The same house I would have lived in, been mistress of, if things had gone differently tonight. If Marco hadn’t reminded me so much of his uncle in Sicily.
If Curse hadn’t been here.
Hold on…
