And then I’m in a strange room.
Textured, windowless, velvet walls on all four sides that look hauntingly soundproof. Soft lighting, like those in spa rooms, cast a soft glow over the leather couch, crystalware, and alcohol tray.
I only notice all that from my peripheral vision.
The focus of my attention is taken by the man who stands in the center of the room—the one who takes up all the light and needs no mask.
“Miss Etheridge.” Mason Grant smirks. “Welcome to Fort George.”
4
EVA
The only soundin the room is my heavy breathing.
In and out.
In and out.
I count my breaths to keep away the blackened edges of my vision, slowly drifting in, daring to snuff out the light.
Mason Grant’s devious face brightens, reveling at the sight of my trembling frame. His thick, tousled brown hair catches the light as he takes a casual step toward me. “Don’t worry, princess. You won’t be harmed… as long as youbehave.” His gaze flicks to Blue Mask behind me. “Did you get it?”
Quiet tension builds behind me, but I don’t dare turn around.
In a flash, Mason’s face twists, lips muttering in silent words. Then he’s storming toward me, like an animal locking on its prey for the kill.
My feet itch to retreat, heart hammering against my ribs, but I ground them. I have nowhere to go, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching me squirm.
In one swift movement, he yanks the clutch from my shoulder, snapping the band and ripping it open. My gloss and keysclink then scatter against the marble floor. The two men behind me exchange a look, butI knowwhat he’s looking for.
A smile dances at the corner of my lips. Alone, outnumbered, stuck in a room with brutish cavemen, but in this moment, watching them fidget is strangely invigorating.
When he doesn’t find the panic button in my purse, he steps closer. Too close.
Before tonight, I never imagined I would be close enough to stand in his shadow, to see the jaw cut from stone, the roughness of the stubble that matches the fire in his amber eyes, and the clean lines of muscles drawn across his chest and arms. A daunting tattoo of a snake wrapped around a sword crawls up his arm, then trails into more ink all the way to his neck. His leather-and-smoke scent mixed with a masculine cologne overwhelms my senses, making my lungs stutter for clean air as he towers over me like a thundercloud.
I thought he would demand I hand it over. I was counting on stalling for a few minutes, even seconds.
But what happens next, I did not expect.
His large hand lands on my chest.
No pause. No hesitation.
I gasp when his palm crushes my breast callously. My lips part in shock as his hands roam all over my body, searching for the missing object. His touch ignites my nerves, sending sparks racing through me. I stay frozen, flabbergasted at the brazen patting of both my breasts, my waist, and my back.
A hush crawls the length of me when he pulls on my skirt like he’s willing to strip me bare, right here.
“I dropped it,” I shout the words out loud, holding my hands up, my voice echoing from the velvet walls.
I didn’t want to admit it, but I couldn’t handle his touch anymore—not the harsh strokes, not the little electric shocks everywhere he grazed me, nor the risk of being undressed in front of strangers.
“Youdroppedit?” He cocks an eyebrow, his hand pausing on my waist.
“I fell on the stairs. It slipped out of my hands,” I bite out.
Mason’s eyes flash to Blue Mask behind me. The door opens, a gust of cold air brushing my bare back. Then my phone is ripped out of my hands. I don’t resist. If he wants my phone, he can have it.
