“You’re sick,” I spit at him, clenching my hands into fists.
“I’m well aware of that little fact, Aria. Tell me, what else do you know about me?” His voice is smooth velvet, and it echoes in a deep way from wall to wall in the room. The kind of echo you feel deep in your gut, one that haunts you so much later in the night.
“I know my father will gut you,” I answer him with sickening contempt.
“He isn’t going to do anything. He doesn’t even know I’m the one who has you.” His head tilts slightly as he examines my every reaction.
“Yes, he does,” I breathe as if it will be true if only I say it is. His look turns to pity, but only for a moment. It passes so quickly I wonder if I even saw it, or maybe it was only the dim light in the room playing tricks on me.
“He doesn’t and even if he did, he’s useless.” Menace lingers on the heels of his words, falling hard and crashing to the ground around me.
He adds, “He couldn’t even defend your mother’s honor.”
“Fuck you,” I dare to sneer at him. Anger rises quickly inside of me and my breathing quickens.
“You fight now, but you’ll submit later,” Cross says easily, completely unaffected by my words.
“Submit?” the fear is evident in my voice.
“You’ll do as I say. Every command. Kneel at my feet, undress, lie in my bed… Spread your legs for me.” The depth of conviction in his voice is frightening.
“I’ll die before I submit to you.” My throat dries and tightens. I can barely breathe as he stands.
He’s not quick, not hurried in the least to stalk toward me. I can run. I know I can, but the room is small; there’s nothing to hide behind and he’s so tall, it wouldn’t take much beyond a lunge for him to catch me.
My knees weaken, and I nearly fall to the ground, but I don’t. I stay as tall as I can although I have to crane my neck to look Cross in the eyes. My heart pounds chaotically as if it’s trying to escape. For every step he takes forward, I take one back until I’ve hit the wall.
“How did you sleep?” he asks me in an eerily calm voice.
“Like a baby,” I say, and my answer is nothing but defiant. I surprise myself with the immediate answer. Fuck him. Fuck Carter Cross.
A crooked smile twitches onto his lips. “Do you always have nightmares?” he asks and the strength inside of me wavers. My gaze flickers from him to the floor.
“It seemed like a terrible dream,” he adds, his eyes blazing with a threat.
I get the sense that he was here, that he knows I had a nightmare because he was here, not from the camera. As much as I’d like to hide the sickening sense of defeat from my expression, I can’t. He sees my weakness, and I can’t hide from him.
“Answer me.” His command comes out tense and deep.
I almost tell him, no, but then decide on silence, pretending to ignore how the fear that’s growing inside of me makes my limbs feel numb. I expect anger from him, but all I can see is the twinkle of humor in his eyes.
“You will give me everything that I want,” Cross says and then reaches out to me. My eyes close tightly as his fingers brush the hair from my face. He tucks the lock behind my ear and I think about biting him, about fighting him when I remember the first time he touched me so comfortingly, only to then grip my throat and hold me like his prized possession.
With another step forward, he bathes me in darkness, blocking the light and forcing me to push myself against the wall and stare up at him with genuine fear I wish I could deny.
“You’re going to love doing it too,” he whispers in the small space, heating the air between us and my body betrays me at the thought.
It makes no sense at all. Save the scent of his presence. He smells like the woods. Inhaling the deep scent reminds me of the way my mother used to describe our eyes. Like the canopy of the forest after a long day of rain. Maybe I could blame it on instinct.
Or maybe I’m just meant to be the whore to a monster.
I don’t admit my response to him. There’s no way in hell I ever would.
“Let me go,” I whimper the plea and hate myself for it. I can pretend to be strong. He can’t see what’s deep inside of me. I can pretend to be stronger than he knows.
His only response is to chuckle, a deep and rough masculine sound that rumbles his chest and the anger I feel from it overwhelms me.