Violent Beginnings (The Moretti Crime Family 2)

My teeth grind together, and I’m a little pissed at how smart and reasonable she is.

Buying her, I expected her to be timid and scared. To beg, plead, and do everything in her power to run away. My expectations were obviously off.

She is a politician’s daughter, all right. Assessing risks and trying to do damage control. Everything she said makes sense, but that doesn’t mean I can trust her.

She’ll have to do better than that.5FallonYou win some, and you lose some, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to be signing my own death certificate if I don’t shut my mouth soon. Be smart, Fallon.

Markus is looking at me like he wants to murder me, and the weight of his stare makes it hard for me to swallow down the heavy globs of oatmeal in my mouth. Somehow, I manage and finish breakfast without another word. He offers me a glass of water, which I take without question. For some odd reason, I’m beyond thirsty.

Maybe it’s the after-effects of whatever drug he gave me last night. I want to be mad at him for giving it to me, but being able to go to sleep without pain was heaven.

I try not to stare or make eye contact with him, but it’s hard when he’s right there, literally in my face with a body sculpted from stone, and a look of complete disinterest on his Adonis face. He didn’t want sex last night, which was shocking, but a blessing as well, which leaves me to wonder if he didn’t want that, what did he buy me for?

Perhaps the sex will come later?

“Get up,” he orders gruffly.

He’s all about ordering. There is no asking. No chance to object or ask a question. I scamper to my feet like a soldier, nearly knocking the chair over. All he’s done the entire time I ate my cold breakfast was stare at me while drinking what I assume is coffee. He made nothing to eat for himself, unless he ate before waking me up.

Maybe he doesn’t eat breakfast?

I don’t know why I care… he’s my captor. I should be hoping he dies, planning out my escape, not worrying if he’s eating breakfast or not. Maybe I want him to eat with me to make this seem more normal, to create an illusion of this being anything besides what it is.

The chair scrapes across the tile as he shoves it backward and stands. It takes everything in me not to cower. My knees wobble, knocking together. He’s such a large man that it would take little effort for him to hurt me, and even if he hasn’t done so yet, I need to remember that he has the power to.

He takes one mammoth step toward me, and his massive hand reaches out and wraps around my wrist. The contact of his skin on mine sends a zing of heat across my flesh. His touch is branding, like flames of fire licking at my flesh.

“You don’t have to hold onto me. I already told you I will not run,” I spit when he stalking back toward the bedroom, dragging me behind him.

“I don’t care what you told me. I don’t trust you,” he snaps back almost angrily.

Uneasiness churns in my gut and becomes full-fledged apprehension when we reach the bedroom. Releasing my wrist, he turns on me and narrows his gaze. I can almost see his thoughts processing right before my eyes.

What’s he going to do to me?

“I want you to strip out of your clothes and turn around to face the door.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from asking a question that will most likely get me backhanded into next week. With shaking fingers, I slip my fingers into the waistband of my sleep shorts and shove them down my legs slowly. I’ve gotten used to being naked. At first, when I was taken off the street, it took me a while to grow accustomed to it. I used my hands to cover my most intimate parts, but that didn’t last long. The men would threaten to beat me if I tried to cover myself, so I got used to being naked quickly.

But being used to it and liking it are two different things, and all over again, I find myself feeling exposed. I move slowly to remove my shirt. Having sex with a man I don’t know, who will most likely kill me or throw me away like I’m trash when this is all over, isn’t what I wanted to be doing, but I have no choice.

I’m not sure why I do it, maybe to torture myself a little more. I don’t know, or maybe to see if he’s really as cruel as I think he is, but I glance up at Markus as I grab the hem of my shirt. Our gazes lock just as they did when I was on that stage, and I see something in them, something that is hidden, locked away in the dark amber waters.