My pulse spikes. “That’s not happening.”
He laughs, a dark and low sound. “Yes, it is.”
“And if I refuse?” My voice comes out as a rasp, betraying my arousal despite my best efforts.
His fingers tighten fractionally around my throat. “Do you really want to find out?”
Before I can answer, he lets go of my throat and grabs my upper arm. Then he pulls me with him to the bed, using his free hand to dramatically sweep everything off.
“Get. On. The. Fucking. Bed,” he commands through clenched teeth.
I’m not proud that I do what he says, definitely not when he tells me to lie back and stretch my arms above my head. Yet, I do exactly that.
My eyes widen when he joins me on the bed, positioning a knee on either side of my hips while he undoes his belt and removes it.
“W-what are you doing?” I whisper as he wraps the leather around my wrists so I can’t move them at all.
Temporary insanity; that’s the only reason I just lie here and let him tie me up instead of fighting, thrashing, and screaming.
Matteo towers over me, his expression a mixture of anger and dark desire. His thumb traces my bottom lip, applying light pressure until my mouth parts involuntarily.
“That’s better,” he rasps. “Now your hands are bound like a thief’s should be.”
Now would definitely be the time to turn on the hate, and do that fighting I’ve failed at. But something deeper, darker, keeps me still—a primal recognition of power, of consequence.
“Time to earn your life, Little Thief.”
Chapter 10
Matteo
Ilook down at Raven, at how beautiful she looks with her wrists pulled taut by my belt above her head. The sheets frame her body like a canvas waiting for the artist’s first stroke.
My weight pins her hips to the mattress, and I feel a sense of dark satisfaction. She took what was mine. Now I’ll take something from her.
“Do you know what happens to thieves in Saudi Arabia?” I ask, my voice conversational, as though we’re discussing the weather over coffee.
Her eyes flick between mine—the good one and the prosthetic. Then she lifts her chin, lets a slow smile cut across her mouth. “They get straddled by psychopaths with a god complex?”
I can’t help smiling at her. “They lose their hands.”
The blade gleams as I withdraw it from inside my suit jacket. It’s the same knife that found its home in the attacker over a week ago. Over the years, it’s tasted a lot of blood.
“Pretty toy,” Raven quips, but I catch the tremble in her voice. “I k-know you’re not compensating. So I guess you’re just a showoff.”
I bring the flat of the blade to her left wrist, just below where the belt bites into her flesh.
“You fucking psycho,” she screams, bucking her hips. “You’re not—”
“Shhh!” I lean forward so my lips hover just above hers. “If you can’t keep quiet, I’ll have to gag you. Do you want that?”
“I want—”
Throwing my hand over her mouth, I silence her. “Be a good girl, Raven, and keep your voice down. If you draw the attention of your neighbors, I’ll have to kill them.” Her eyes widen and she stops trying to bite me. “That’s what I thought,” I chuckle, satisfied she understands what’s at stake.
When she continues to buck, she hooks an ankle around my calf, trying to unseat me. I shift so I’m sitting on her upper thighs instead of her hips. With how much taller I am than her, it’s not much of a stretch for me to reach her wrists from this position.
“In Russia, they’d cut off your ears. Not entirely sure why the ears.” The last part comes out as though I’m contemplating it, which I guess I am. It makes no fucking sense.
