King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

I release her, unsure of what to think or how to react. But I know this session is over.

I put the cane away and remove her restraints. She’s crying quietly, and I wonder if she’ll turn to me for consolation. But when she’s free from restraints, I merely cuff her wrists in front of her again.

I watch her reaction carefully. She pulls as far away from me as she can, her eyes cast down and head hung low. When I tug her cuffed wrists toward the door, she walks with me, wincing with each step that she takes. It only takes minutes to reach our house. I marvel at how quickly things changed. Just a few hours ago, she was preparing my bedroom for me to sleep for the night, and now…

I shake my head. I’m not sure what happens next.

I open the door to the house and place her unceremoniously inside before I close the door with an air of finality.

My relationship with Taara—that of boss and paid staff—has forever changed. I’m not sure if I believe her. I’m not sure what will happen next. But until I do, she’ll remain my prisoner.Chapter 4TaaraHow could I have ever thought I loved this man? How? I was so naïve. Foolhardy. I thought he knew compassion and kindness.

But not this man.

This is a side of Stefan I didn’t know existed.

He dragged me around like a prisoner. He beat me. I can’t believe how much that rod he used on me hurt, so much more than I ever expected. I felt I’d die under the onslaught, and I was so grateful when he finally stopped. I can feel every stripe on my skin, every flare of heat, and I know that if I remove my clothes I’ll be welted.

How could he have done that to me?

I was so stupid for getting involved, for not staying where it was safe.

I saw a man killed tonight, and Stefan believes I spied.

I didn’t mean to.

But I won’t beg him again.

I hate him. I don’t care if he beats me again, I won’t beg. I have too much pride.

Every single step back to the house hurts. I’m aching with the pain of the beating he gave me, and when I think of the fact that others witnessed this, I want to die. Not only did he punish me, he did so in front of others, who all believe that I’m a liar and a traitor. I hate that. I hate it so much.

Honesty matters to me. Especially when it comes to Stefan.

I want to climb in my bed and nurse my wounds. To bring the covers over my head and cry into them.

I want to weep for the loss of the man I loved, because this man is one that I’ll never love again.

“Sit on the sofa,” he says, pointing to the couch with a scowl.

I plop onto it, not meeting his eyes, trying not to wince when pain radiates along my ass.

He sits heavily in the armchair facing the sofa, his back to the empty, lifeless fireplace, and sighs.

“I didn’t want to do that,” he says, and my heart gives a terrible squeeze in my chest. I could take his harshness. I could even take the pain. But remorse and disappointment from Stefan? Never.

“You’re the pakhan,” I respond bitterly. “You could have done anything you wanted.”

Something flickers across his expression and he stays silent a moment, finally breaking eye contact and looking away. “If only that were true, Taara.”

“You command an army of men,” I tell him. “I know what your role is. I know who you are. You could have chosen to believe me, but you didn’t.” I’m so angry with him I’m shaking. “You could have—”

“Enough!” He raps out in a command so hard I freeze as he gets to his feet. I forgot how tall he is, how large and intimidating, until he towers over me. “I could have had you killed? Yes. I could have had you tortured? Absolutely. I could have ended your life and put your body in a shallow grave next to the man we killed tonight?” I shiver involuntarily at the memory of the bloodied, lifeless body. “Without question. You witnessed my son kill a man in cold blood, and that puts us at risk.”

“I realize that,” I say through clenched teeth. “But accidents happen.”

“Accidents, Taara?” He shakes his head and releases a mirthless laugh. “You call that an accident?”

“Yes, Stefan,” I insist. “An accident.”

“Oh, no, you do not,” he says, and for a moment the look in his eyes is so ferocious, I fear another punishment, and instinctively sink further into the cushions of the couch. “Accidents are things that happen we have no control over. Things we don’t choose. Dropping a vase. Forgetting a doctor’s appointment. Witnessing an execution is no accident but a grave mistake.”