“Save your tears, dear Isabella.” His broken English was more than adequate for what he had in mind. His lips twisted into a cruel, triumphant smile as he stood back to admire his handiwork and revel in Emma’s primal fear. “We’ve just gotten started.”
He walked over and retrieved his knife, returning to kneel between her legs. He leaned forward, holding the blade to her throat. Ever so slightly, he nicked the delicate skin there and was rewarded with a few drops of blood and a muffled whimper.
He captured the blood with his fingertips, holding it up for Emma to see. Then he reached down to wipe the droplets across her lips, first her upper one and then her lower one.
“Gag is coming out,” he said. “Taste bloo
d. Answer questions. If you scream or talk, except to answer me, I’ll slit your throat and you bleed to death. Nod if you understand.”
Emma nodded.
“Good.” He reached into her mouth and yanked out the gag.
Emma winced as the gag was torn from her mouth. She stayed rigid and didn’t make a sound, unsure of what to do—or not to do—to avoid retaliation. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt. So did the skin at her throat, where Slava had pricked it. She had never known white-hot panic like this. Then again, she fully realized what this animal had planned. What would come first? The torture? The rape? The murder would be last, after he’d dragged as much information out of her as he could.
She should tell him nothing except to go fuck himself. She should spit in his face. She should be the ballsy girl she always was.
She couldn’t do or be any of those things.
She was so scared. Of all of it. Most of all, she didn’t want to die. Oh, God, she didn’t want to die.
“Lick your lips,” Slava ordered her. “Taste blood.”
Emma obeyed, gagging at the iodine flavor and praying for a miracle she knew wasn’t coming. Brian could be dead. No one knew where Slava had taken her. Even FI had no starting point from which to initiate a trace. They couldn’t find her.
It was over.
She flinched as Slava rose from between her legs, her gaze following him over to the nightstand, where he poured a glass of water and shoved it against her mouth. “Drink so you can talk.”
Emma hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could get down the water, much less hold it down.
“Drink or I hold your nose and pour it down your throat until you choke.”
She had to do this.
Closing her lips around the rim of the glass, Emma took a few tentative sips and finally what she prayed would be an acceptable swallow. She forced the water down past the lump in her throat. Then, she lay back and waited.
“Good.” Slava set down the glass and returned to his kneeling position between her legs. His eyes were black with rage, their depths empty, devoid of humanity.
“Your name,” he commanded. “Your real name.”
“Emma.” Was that gravelly sound really her voice?
“Emma what?”
“Emma Stirling.”
“Well, Emma Stirling, you picked wrong person to fuck with. No, maybe not in all ways,” he amended, considering his choice of words. The look in his eyes changed to lust, as he sat back and studied her body, taking in every inch of her.
Emma’s insides turned to ice. She knew the customary Lycra workout clothes she was wearing clung to her figure—all she wanted now was to be swallowed up by an oversized T-shirt and baggy sweatpants.
“Nice,” Slava commented, his lips twisting into a cruel smile. “Very nice. Maybe I put the gag back in for now. Talk can wait.”
Emma gritted her teeth as he reached for it, locking her mouth shut. Simultaneously, she tugged frantically at the bonds around her wrists. Her primal instinct was to fight. She knew it wouldn’t help. It would probably make things worse. But she couldn’t help it. She was fighting for her life.
“Lie still.” Slava pressed an elbow into her stomach until her head rolled with pain and she went still. “Now open your mouth or I open it for you.” The massive fists at his sides told Emma there’d be no contest.
She obeyed his order.