Merciless (Merciless 1)

“If you would only kneel for me when I come in, I would give you so much more than this.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” My question is a whispered breath. No tears come from my dry eyes and the pain in my chest is dull. There’s only so much a person can take before they break. I don’t need sleep or food even. I need answers.

“You ask that often,” is his only response, as he straightens himself in the chair. Squaring his shoulders toward me and making the pressed dress shirt stretch tight across his shoulders.

His handsome features look like nothing but sin as he stares at me. I have to rip my eyes away from him. I can’t look at him. He’s a monster and that’s the only thing I need to know about Carter Cross. A beautiful monster who enjoys depriving me and watching me fade into nothing.

“How about we play a game?” he asks me, and a chaotic laugh erupts from my lips.

“Come now, I promise you’ll enjoy it,” he says, and his voice is a promising caress.

“And what’s the game, Cross?” I say his name out loud, staring defiantly into his eyes. I imagined his aggravation, maybe even anger at my response, but instead, he only grins at me. A crooked grin on a charming face. I wish I could smack it off.

“An answer for an answer,” he says and that’s when it hits me.

“You think I know a thing about my father’s business? You’re wasting your time,” I say but my voice betrays me as I speak. It cracks on my last words.

So, this is his plan? Steal me, lock me in a room with nothing for days until I’m desperate for change so he can get information from me? I know it’s merely because I’m a woman. That’s why they haven’t tortured me. But it will come eventually, and I have nothing to give them.

My eyes burn with the need to cry, but I don’t let it happen. “I swear to you,” I barely get out and then stare into Cross’s dark eyes, willing him to believe me, “I don’t know anything.”

“I know you don’t.” It takes a moment for me to register what he’s said.

“Is this a trick?” I ask him, feeling as if I must be going crazy. The hope in my chest is fluttering so strongly. “I don’t want to die,” I whisper the confession.

“I’m not going to kill you.” He answers simply, devoid of emotion, giving me nothing to hold on to other than the matter-of-fact words. “The Romanos would have killed you. You would have died or been captured and given a much crueler fate if I hadn’t taken you first.” I’m silent as I listen to him talk about me as if I’m merely a pawn to sacrifice. “Your best chance at surviving what’s to come is with me.”

Tears threaten to leak down my cheeks at the thought of men infiltrating my father’s estate. At Nikolai being shot as he sits at the kitchen table where he always sits on the early weekend mornings. At my father being killed in the same room where my mother’s life ended.

“Do you want to play the game?”

“I’ve never done well with games,” I answer breathily, watching every inch of his expression for a hint at what’s to come.

“The blanket is yours for playing,” he says and nods toward a pile of fabric he’d tossed at my feet when he came in. And inwardly, I’m grateful. “Why don’t you eat?” he asks me, and I know the game has started. An answer for an answer and he holds the first question.

Staring down at myself, I answer him with half honesty. “I’m not hungry.” Ten days… I try to remember how many times I’ve eaten. Maybe six meals. At the realization, my stomach roils.

A moment passes before he shifts in the chair, leaning back but keeping his hands on his thighs. “If you lie, then I can lie,” he says and the way he says the word “lie” forces me to stare into his eyes. It’s like the devil himself discussing deceit. “That’s the way this game works.”

“I don’t trust that you aren’t going to drug me or poison me. Or something.” The truth so easily pours from my lips.

My eyes drop to the ground at the reminder of all the horrific ideas that have flitted through my head since I’ve been here.

“It’s only food and you need to eat.” Again, there’s no emotion, only a statement of fact. I watch him intently as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. “Your turn.”

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask him without thinking twice.

“Feed you and keep you in here with nothing but what you have until you submit to me.” He readjusts in the chair and adds, “You’re a social creature and lonely. I can see how lonely you are.” As he speaks to me, my gaze wanders and the hollow ache in my chest rises.