Dagon systematically destroyed all of my pleasures and enjoyments in the world. Maybe I can reclaim just one of them.
I slowly crouch down to the ground. Greg wiggles his butt, tongue lolling out, staring at me with expectation.
When I hesitate, he yips; I flinch; Max snaps, “Quiet.”
Greg falls silent, apart from another impatient whine. I slowly close the distance between my fingers and his fur. The dog is warm—hisfur is soft, fluffy, and pleasant to touch. The feeling of his little heart pitter-pattering beneath my hand is oddly satisfying. He stares at me; I stare at him. He wriggles again, encouraging me to scratch, so I do.
He lets out a grunt of enjoyment. Some part of me melts. It’s a simple thing, connecting with a dog,touchinga dog after what happened to me… but it’s profoundly satisfying. I’m doing this, in spite of Dagon.
But I still have to go back to him. The thought is sobering. I pull my hand away from Greg and stand again. Greg rolls over, gets to his legs, and butts his big head against my knee before turning to Max. Max scratches his head and pats his back before taking my wrist in his hand.
“I haven’t had adequate time to prepare my place for your arrival,” Max says, glancing around. “I did, however, know I was next in the lineup for a chosen, so there have been some adjustments. You’ll notice a couple of things. First; most of the furniture is outfitted for bondage. Itcanbe used for fun purposes, or it can be used if you’re being a nuisance and I need to keep you in place.”
As he speaks, I catch sight of systematic hooks drilled into the floor. My assassin brain tells me that’s where a serial killer would chain their victims; my slowly-building understanding of the Nighthawks and Max tells me something else altogether. Greyson mentioned Max living the BDSM lifestyle—while I have little personal experience with it, I’ve read plenty of BDSM erotica, and that’s enough to make my skin tingle with something thatshouldbe fear… but isn’t.
Max’s bedroom is the epitome of a military bachelor pad. It’s extremely clean, almost to the point of being OCD. The walls are a deep, smoky gray, the color of storm clouds right before they break. The floor is dark wood, warm under my bare feet. The bed is massive, low, and dressed in charcoal sheets and a heavy black duvet that looks soft enough to drown in. A single reading lamp glows on the nightstand.
An open door gives me a peek of the walk-in closet, which is more like a private armory disguised as storage. Shelves of shirts, drawers closed and labeled, rows of polished boots, and above them, locked cabinets that don’t look like they’re hiding clothes. There’s a space cleared on one side, empty hangers waiting, as if Max has been planning for me. The assumption of permanence makes my stomach lurch.
The bathroom is another world entirely, colder and sharper. The shower is glass-enclosed, and when I spot more strategically placed hooks on the tile floors and walls, I stiffen. Being chained in uncomfortable positions in a freezing-cold shower is an effective form of torture—I’ve both done it to others and had it done to me, enough times to know how much it sucks.
Max pulls open a drawer and withdraws a pair of leather-bound handcuffs. I suck in a sharp breath.
“You’ve proven that, for the time being, I literally cannot leave you alone for a moment. That’s difficult since I have shit to do, duties to perform, and daily rounds to make, which leaves me with no option but making sure you can’t cause trouble while I’m gone. That won’t be forever; just until you prove that you’llstoptrying to kill me or escape every time I turn my back for a moment.”
I swallow hard, jaw tightening. Ihaveto get out of here for reasons Max can’t possibly fathom. The longer I delay, the greater riskshe’sin. I havemaybea week of wiggle room before Dagon sets to work on her—the average time he gives me to come back to him—and I’ve already wasted nearly two days.
I have to get out of here and get on a phone call with him in the next five days to inform him that I didn’tvoluntarilyleave him and I’m on my way back to him. While I have zero desire to return to him, the alternative is unthinkable. I’ll take a thousand punishments fromDagon before letting any harm come toher. I’ll get engaged to him, marry him, let him have sex with me if it’s what keeps her safe.
But there’s no use in telling Max that. In fact, nowisthe time to become compliant, to make him think I’m bending. I need him to give me room so I can formulate and execute an escape plan.
“Strip and give me your hands,” Max commands.
Chapter Fifteen
Ember
My teeth grind together as I stare at him, considering. Pushing back will only damage his trust and make my circumstances more difficult, but submitting too quickly will make him suspicious.
“Flame,” Max says quietly. “Either do it, or I’ll force you. I think we’ve established that you won’t succeed in killing me, and that if you try, I’ll punish you—hard. You already have quite the punishment coming your way for trying to kill me last night and crashing my car. Don’t make it any worse on yourself. If you comply now, you might even earn some leniency.”
I shift from foot to foot. “What are you going to do?”
“Wash you,” Max says simply. “Get acquainted with every inch of you.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
I worry my bottom lip, still not moving. I’m more accustomed than anyone should ever be to warding off rape attempts, but whatever this is with Max feels different. He’s forceful, but not the sort of forceful I’m used to fighting. He’s more…manipulative.He uses coercive persuasion rather than outright brute strength. And he’s compelling in a way I’ve never before experienced.
“What are you afraid of?” he tilts his head to the side.
My spine snaps straight. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Right.”Is he smiling?Why is he smiling? “What are you worried is going to happen?”
His tone is calm and steady, not at all overeager or cruel. Again, nothing like what I’m accustomed to.
