It’s my father’s car, and Andrea Bocelli’sCon te partiròcomes on from his playlist. Italian words pour in—lyrics about being together, about dreaming of your lover when they’re away. It only adds more fire to my frustration. At the very least, it seems to be bothering him as well, because he ends up turning it off, leaving only strained silence between us.
By the timeMikhail pulls over, I have no idea where we are.
There are no street signs, and we have mostly been riding on the highway. In fact, this entire break makes no sense at all, because there’s nothing around us other than cliffs, water, and the horizon.
He kills the engine and then exits without a word. Retrieving something from his pocket, he leans against the car as if he has all the time in the world. I poke my head out from the pretzel position I’m in, deciding to follow him outside, needing fresh air after being locked in here with him for hours.
The breeze rushes at me the second I step out, cold enough to raise goosebumps on my arms.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, hugging myself.
Cigarette dangling from his mouth, he doesn’t even look at me as he mutters, “Robbing a bank.”
I blink.
Condescending prick.
“I get that you’re smoking. I just want to know why we stopped!”
“So impatient.” He flicks his lighter on and off as he stares out into the distance. “If I were you, I wouldn’t get too excited for the job. Marrying me will mean… Let’s just say my sexual tastes are well outside your range.”
I scoff and blink with incredulity, my lips forming words that never take on a sound. What could he possibly mean by that?
I know what sex is, obviously. Despite my lack of experience in this department, I’ve seen it play out in a video once, when I caught the guards watching one. The woman had her back to the man who hovered over her, thrusting. She moaned, he groaned, and they seemed completely unfazed by the camera recording them. Everything happened too fast for me to think about how it made me feel. The guards shut down the video when they saw me.
Is that what Mikhail is talking about? Not that I’deverhave sex with him.
“Have you stopped to think that maybe, you don’t know everything about me?” I ask.
He puffs out smoke above his head that disappears into nothingness, watching me from under thick eyebrows. “What are you saying, sweetheart? That you enjoy being spanked?”
I suck in a breath.Spanked?
“Tied up? Choked?”
My heartbeat picks up. Nothing he says sounds like a joke. In fact, it’s the most serious I’ve ever heard him talk. His voice drops, the words dripping slower from his mouth. “Fucked hard and filled with so much cum, you orgasm just from feeling it slide out of your precious cunt?”
I swallow, my already large eyes growing into wide circles. No one has ever said such words in my presence before, let alonetome.
A flicker of something forbidden flutters between my legs, and I want the ground to swallow me because, somehow, Mikhail knows it’s happening, as if a barely perceivable twitch of my thighs gave me away.
His jaw clenches, like he hates that he showed any interest, and before I find something to say—anything at all—his attention shifts back to his cigarette.
“Fuck,” he mutters, closing his eyes, taking another drag.
“T-Those things will kill you,” I say, turning my back to him, facing the cliffs. Suddenly, I’m feeling grateful for the cool, strong wind lapping at my heated skin.
His reaction to the nicotine makes sense, I suppose. He just got out of a basement, where he was being beaten to a pulp regularly. This stop has to be about him savoring his freedom. About indulgence. About stretching out his devil-gifted wings after all the time spent locked in the dark. If he hadn’t messedwith my life, maybe I would’ve felt sorry for forgetting to bring him the cigarettes I promised.
Taking a few steps toward the edge of the cliff, I look out into the distance, wanting to scream. Where Mikhail is recharging his sanity behind me, I’m losing mine by the second, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight.
I dip my head into my chest, breathing through another incoming panic attack. But just like the last time in that basement, a strong hand wraps around my waist and drags me back, making sure I don’t get to escape the bars of my enclosure. I crash into his hard chest, his warmth making me realize how cold I actually am.
“I didn’t get you just to watch you die before we’ve left the state,” he murmurs above me, his gaze burning into the back of my neck. He shifts, and then his suit jacket covers my naked shoulders.
The gesture isn’t kindness. It’s possession. Control. It’s saving me for later, when he needs me for whatever pushes forward his agenda. After being used by almost everyone in my life, I understand that better than ever now. I roll my shoulders away from his touch, turning to face him.
“Don’t you dare touch me again,” I snarl.
