The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

I liked Ronan.

I cared.

And he was only using me.

Tears blurred my vision while I frantically pulled at the ropes on my wrists, trying to twist out of them. I froze when a heavy presence told me I was no longer alone.

Ronan stood in front of the door, a sliver of light fanning in from the hall. His eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, the black-on-black of his expensive clothes—they swallowed the shadows in the room.

Darkness there, and nothing more.

I called it in the beginning. Something inside of me always knew.

“You aren’t going to do much more than hurt yourself. I learned how to tie a knot in prison.”

The indifference in his voice penetrated my veins, freezing my blood from the inside out. I tensed as he moved closer, his gaze flicking to the TV to watch me gyrate on his lap.

“A video of you riding my cock would have been better, but regardless, you make a good show, kotyonok.”

This man wasn’t the one I came to know the past week. I realized now that “generous” man was nothing but a lie. Only someone sick could touch me, caress me, knowing all along I was just a pawn in whatever twisted game this was. I was so stupid. A stupid, naïve girl who’d walked right into a monster’s arms.

I winced when my muscles tightened, still feeling a sharp sting in the back of my neck from whatever he stuck me with.

“What did you give me?” I breathed, my voice wavering.

He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms, his shoulders nearly blocking all the light from the TV. Only yesterday, I found his size and strength attractive. Now, it terrified me.

“Etorphine.”

It sounded familiar, and I placed where I’d heard of it: the show Dexter. It was what he used to knock his victims out before torturing them. Images of saws and detached limbs made my veins shake, especially as I recalled how Ronan cut off a man’s finger without any remorse.

If he had a demented urge to mutilate me, why would he need to record us? And if he worked for a sex trafficking ring, why wine and dine me for so long? He’d had multiple opportunities to kidnap me, including the first night I slept in his office.

Nothing made sense, and the unknown spread ice through me.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“Such a loaded question,” he said, eyes on something small he twisted between his fingers. I knew it was my heart-shaped earring. “What do you think I want from you?”

I stared at him, my pulse racing with uncertainty.

“You really have no idea,” he drawled, gaze alight with amusement. “Apparently, they don’t make girls as smart as they used to.”

I was stupid. I knew it, and I accepted it. But hearing it from his lips sent a burst of fire through me.

“Just tell me what you want, you psychopath,” I snapped, yanking at the ropes on my wrists.

The flash of his eyes penetrated the dark as he pushed off the dresser, and I couldn’t hold in a flinch when he gripped my face. His voice was low and soft, and it scared me more than if he would have shouted.

“Watch how you speak to me, or you’ll soon find out how sick I really am.”

My breath shook, but I held his stare.

Russian roulette.

One blink, and I’d be dead.

Maybe that would be a quicker demise than what he had in store for me.