A Worthy Opponent (Wicked Villains 3)

I cling to my purse and walk to the same door I knocked on two short months ago. The doorknob turns easily in my hand, and then I’m inside. I’m not sure what I expect. A bloodbath. Hook, broken and bleeding on the floor, maybe even dead. To be shot the second I step over the threshold.

Instead, the scene I enter might be mundane if I didn’t know the history of the players. Hook sits on the couch. He’s got a trickle of blood still flowing from a cut on his temple, and his hands are cuffed in front of him, but he doesn’t seem too much the worse for wear.

Peter is … cooking.

I stop short and look around. Where’s the woman? Maybe the bedroom. It stands to reason that Peter would keep her out of it. Unless … “Where is she?”

“You always did have a hell of a time minding your own damn business.”

The scent of bacon slaps me in the face, making everything that much more surreal. “What the hell, Peter?”

“I got tired of waiting for you.” He doesn’t look at me, seeming to concentrate on the pan on the stove. “Get over here, baby. I want to show you something.”

“Tink?” Hook shakes his head slowly like he’s not sure I’m really here or some phantom in his imagination. “No.” There’s something off in his tone. I’m no doctor, but he’s definitely concussed, which means he won’t be able to help. It also means that one more nasty hit to his head could kill him.

I thought I was afraid before. I didn’t realize that the bottom of my terror could drop out and leave me in a freefall that feels strangely like rage. “He hit you.”

“I’m fine.” Hook frowns at me. “What are you doing here? Get the fuck out.”

That’s the one thing I can’t do. I don’t know if I can get Hook out alive, but if I leave now, I definitely won’t. “I’m sorry.” I turn my attention to Peter as I take the handful of steps required to get me into the little kitchen. Not quite close enough to grab, but close enough to be obedient. To pacify. It takes more effort than I could have dreamed to shift my tone to obedience instead of screaming in his face. “I’m here. Let him go.”

“Did you think I’d really let you go, Tatiana?”

He’s said something similar before, but it’s only now that I finally have the strength to answer. “You don’t own me.”

“Wrong.” He turns and leans against the counter, so casual that I might relax if I haven’t seen this song and dance before. Peter likes to lull his prey into relaxing before he strikes. He gives me a slow smile. “You’ve been mine from the second I pulled you out of that shit hole foster home. I didn’t ask for much, and you turn around and betray me the first chance you have.”

Hardly the first chance, but I know better than to say as much. It took a very long time to gather up what little strength I had left and flee. “You shouldn’t have attacked Father Elijah.” As if that’s the sum of his sins. The thought is almost laughable.

“He shouldn’t have meddled with what’s mine.”

“I am a person, not a toy. You don’t get to throw a fit that I escaped before you broke me and threw me away.”

Peter holds out a hand. “Come here, baby.”

My heart is simultaneously trying to beat its way out of my ribcage and also cower somewhere around my spine. I don’t want to do this. I don’t, I don’t, I don’t. I know the shape of this trap intimately. I’ve been here before. I can move through the next steps by memory, even after all this time.

I will not go back to this.

I hug my purse tighter to my chest, an inadequate shield if ever there was one. “You’re going to regret this.” My hoarse voice might read like fear but anger rises with each ragged breath. He thinks he can simply pick me up and make me his again because he wants to. That he can kill the man I love and the future I’m desperate for out of spite.

No. I won’t let it happen.

“Don’t make me ask again.” He motions me closer with a tense flick of his fingers.

I don’t know where Nigel’s people are, but they won’t crash through this door in time to prevent what comes next. I’m on my own. If I falter, both Hook and I pay the price.

I’ve never done anything but falter where Peter is concerned.

Not this time. Never again.

It takes every bit of strength I have to move one step closer and then another. To willingly put myself back within his reach again. I don’t make it a third step. Peter moves faster than he has a right to and grabs me, yanking me the last bit of distance and plastering my back to his chest. He’s built shorter and slighter than Hook, but he’s still strong enough to hold me easily in place.