The Ravishing

He was making sure I didn’t use them on him, too. I was sure of it. Because he could see it in my eyes. When I got to where he was taking me, I was going to stab someone, if that’s what it took to escape.

Cassius

Winding down the window, I let the cold air drag across my face, cleansing me from that house. I pulled off my loose tie before tucking it away in a pocket.

This.

This was the moment I had waited for.

The moment I had imagined—though disappointingly lacking in carnage.

That fucker had hidden like a coward. I would have sold my soul to get to Glassman. I suppose, in many ways, I had.

Though the adrenaline was lessening, it still brought a heady warmth. Similar to one of my five-mile runs, blood surged through veins and brought an addictive aliveness.

The mission could be considered a failure if not for her. Nothing had prepared me for the satisfaction of capturing Anya. Her terror was raw and real and vibrant. Fear shimmered in her eyes. I drank it in. Drank in her visceral terror like she was an extension of him.

She slid all the way over to the other side of the seat. It would be easy to reach out and touch her. Run my hand over her perspiring body to lessen my starvation for retribution.

I was taking a piece of them with me.

Glassman would probably come for her himself. With an army of men. It would be on my turf, and I’d be ready. He could hide for a while, but at some point, he’d have to extricate himself if he wanted Anya to live.

She looked my way. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

Her panic caused my pulse to quicken.

“If you insist on talking,” I sharpened the words like a blade, “then by all means.” I left the rest unsaid.

She was close to tears. Seemingly holding on to her dignity as if such a thing was possible.

Maybe she’d experience the same futility I had endured when I was around her age. Though I’d tracked their ages, I calculated that she was eighteen, so a few years older than me when her father had stormed my home.

She was a toxic pleasure running through my veins as my imagination set to work on how much suffering I’d inflict. Of all the spoils of war, she was the ultimate reward.

“I have to go back!” she said, panicked.

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I turned to face her, and then gestured for her silence when she went to speak again. Demanded Anya remain quiet so the return to the house would be tolerable. This girl was the devil’s spawn. The child of a psychopath. I wondered which traits she’d inherited. With her long brunette hair, large blue eyes, and plump lips, she clearly resembled the Glassman’s lineage. Slender with disarming features that hid what lay within—a tainted soul.

The blood running through her veins was pure poison. She was dangerous, no doubt. A hazard needing to be contained. A captive requiring observation. A careful handling. Like a trapped lioness whose bite would scar.

Anya Glassman had just become the ultimate bait. I would use her to draw them out. Stephen Glassman would be frantic once he realized his daughter was gone. He’d experience the same agony he’d put me through when he destroyed my family.

What the hell had they been thinking to leave Anya vulnerable? We could have killed her on sight.

Just like I’d promised him.

Lifting my focus from the freeway and returning my attention back to her, I savored the way she trembled. With her wrists bound behind her back, it pushed her chest out and emphasized her pert breasts. Her nipples pebbled from the chill of the late-night air that blew in through the open window. Locks of hair falling over her delicate face. She was pretty, with her wide-set blue eyes and surprisingly angelic features. The kind of depth in her gaze I’d not expect from someone of her lineage. No doubt a throwback to an ancestor who had more decency than her father. Nature’s way of trying to dilute the Glassman ancestry, but she was still her father’s daughter.

Her terror stirred my diabolical side. The side that man had carved out of a teenage boy. Like Victor Frankenstein, who’d created a monster he could no longer contain. Only that was fiction, and I. . .I was all too real.

The darker side of life.

That’s what held a vivid fascination for me now.

Seeing her wither in confidence brought a visceral satisfaction. I’d wreak boundless devastation to her life. I reeled with the possibilities of what having her under the same roof would bring.

Today, karma was wielding a sledgehammer.

She was mine.

Anya zeroed in on my inked hands, seemingly fascinated. I imagined her trying to fathom what kind of man I was. Confused over the reason I’d invaded her home. I wasn’t here to appease her, merely use her.