Devil You Hate (The Diavolo Crime Family 1)

The way he’s looking at me, the set of his too arrogant shoulders, it tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. Fine. Fuck him. I’ve already struck out on one battle I’m not about to strike out again. I stride to the other side of the bed, snag the box, and drag it toward me.

I refuse to look up at him as I slide the lid back and peel apart the thick white paper inside. It’s hard to hide my surprise when my eyes land on the contents—a dress. Black, thin, and so short, it might as well be a tube top. He can’t actually expect me to wear this?

Picking the dress up, I notice how stretchy and cheap the material is. Something I imagine a hooker or stripper would wear. There’s also a pair of towering black high heels to complete the getup. The last thing I find in the box is a small syringe. Shit, he’s going to dress me in barely there clothes and drug me.

I lift it up to the light. “What’s this? Drugs?”

“Get dressed, and I’ll show you.” His voice is dipped in poison and laced with honey.

I put the dress and its accessories back in the box and glare up at him. “This isn’t exactly real clothes. I was thinking maybe some yoga pants and a nice comfy T-shirt.”

God, why can’t I keep my mouth shut?

He continues his study of me, his expression unreadable, and then, in the blink of my eyes, he walks around to my side of the bed. My lungs burn as I suck a ragged breath between my lips. Yep, I should’ve definitely kept my mouth shut.

Running away isn’t an option, not when I’m stuck between the bed and the wall. Without another place to go, I hold my ground and turn away, so I don’t have to look at him this close to me.

His strong hand comes into view, and he tilts my chin up, forcing my gaze to his. I can see a wave of slow anger rising within the icy depths. Why does he feel the need to touch me?

“You can wear this fucking dress to dinner, or you can wear nothing.”

Would he really do it?

I’m half tempted to push him, but afraid of the outcome and what it might do to me. What he might do. I know well enough that he would enjoy my discomfort through the entire thing, and that’s enough to push me in the direction I need to go. I take the box off the bed and maneuver around him to go to the bathroom to change.

“No,” he growls. “Dress right here. You have five minutes, or I’m ripping off that shirt and throwing you over my shoulder. The choice of what you wear to dinner is yours.”

Funny, he thinks anything he says is actually a choice of mine. From the second he kidnapped me, he’s been giving me these “choices” more like not-so-thinly veiled threats.

Soaking up all my anger, I fling the box to the hardwood and slip the buttons of his shirt through the holes. I watch his face intently as I strip and quickly shuffle through the tilted box to retrieve the dress. It slides over my skin like it has been made for me, hugging tight to every angle and curve my body possesses.

“The shoes,” he prompts.

His face is still unreadable, save for the hard cut of his jaw that’s clenched tight as he watches me. Something tells me he’d be even more handsome if he didn’t have such a damn scowl on his face.

The fucking four-inch spike heels, which look like they were pulled out of some lame-ass porno, take me a little longer to get into and even longer to stand upright in.

He approaches once I catch my balance, the syringe in hand. “This is for you.”

I glare. Even in the heels, I only reach his chin. “Will you at least tell me what it is you’re injecting me with?”

“Birth control,” he explains as he pulls off the cap, exposing the thin needle.

He gives me a stern look as he grabs my arm, telling me without words not to move. Little does he know, I want this shot if it means I won’t get pregnant. Having a baby by a man who buys a woman at an auction seems like the worst possible idea ever.

I remain still as he injects the needle into the flesh on my upper arm. There’s a slight sting, followed by a burning, but it’s far better than having a baby with a monster.

“Good girl. I like when you listen to me.” The wicked tilt of his lips should clue me in that I’m not going to like what he does next. “Before we go, you forgot something.”

Puzzled, I cock my head to the side and stare at him, a bit confused. What more could there be? Dropping his hands, he fists the edge of my dress. I’m still wearing the plain cotton panties he’d given me, and I think I know where this is headed. Gripping the edge of my panties, he easily peels them down my legs, kneeling as he gently lifts one foot at a time to remove them.