“Please stop.” I’m not above begging. I can’t take much more of this.
He brandishes the vibe but doesn’t put it between my legs. “Why did you not seek me out after that day in my office? Why did you go on dates with other men?”
“Because I can do whatever the hell I like!” I snarl.
Damir glances wickedly at my bound wrists, as if to say, Can you? “Admit that you were turned on that day in my office because of the violence and blood.”
“I was in shock. I’m not turned on by a psychopath!”
He tuts, and presses the wand against my clit. “Bethany. Be a good girl. Tell the truth.”
I shake my head, no longer able to speak even if I wanted to. My stomach cramps with yet another orgasm, just as enduring and powerful as the first. Damir takes the wand away for a few seconds, giving me relief, and then he puts it back.
“All right!” I shout, gabbling wildly, willing to say anything to make him stop. “I admit it. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. I never even had an orgasm with a man before that day, and I’ve been avoiding you because I’m terrified what that means about me, that the only man who can turn me on is you.”
The vibrator clicks off, and Damir just stares at me, his eyes searching me face.
My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. “Are you happy now?”
But for once, this cocky bastard hasn’t got anything to say.
“What? Stop staring at me like I’m the weird one. You probably need your leg caught in a bear trap while electrodes are applied to your scrotum in order to get off.” Damir opens his mouth, but I speak over him. “Why does this even matter? I thought you’d want to ask me about Mr. Ravnikar and Ciara.”
Damir’s face hardens the instant I say their names. He throws the wand and the lube back in the box and slams the lid.
“Aren’t they more important to you right now than what gets me off?” My voice is laden with sarcasm. I know I’m probably going to earn a worse punishment now than a few forced orgasms, but I’m enjoying making him angry, the smug bastard.
Damir gets up off the bed, his whole body as taut as a bowstring. “Shut up about Mikhail,” he snaps. “He left you behind and he’s not going to find you. You’re going nowhere.” His eyes rake me with blazing possessiveness, and he picks up my underwear from the bed and shoves it in his pocket. Then he turns and slams out of the room, locking it behind him.
I collapse back onto the pillows in relief. I feel hot and raw between my thighs, and weak all over. I survived our first encounter, though it was stupid of me to bait him like that. I wonder why he took me. Maybe I’m just for his amusement, and he’ll kill me as soon as I start boring him.
So, what should I do, provoke him, or give in? Tell him everything I know about Mikhail and Ciara, or hold out as long as I can? If this was a movie, I wonder if the audience would be rooting for me or have me marked down for death by now. I take stock of my situation against all the usual tropes.
If you want to survive a horror movie, you can’t be blonde. If you’re blonde, you’re dead. Sorry, Ciara. Me with my black hair? I’m nailing this first rule.
You can’t have sex, either. I bite my lip. Did what Damir just do to me count? I don’t know. Otherwise, I’m a big old virgin, and I’m staying that way. Why would I let a guy put his dick in me when I’ve endured hours of pointless licking and humping that did nothing for me?
Finally, you can’t drink. I drink occasionally, but that doesn’t matter. What this rule actually means is you can’t party. You can’t let loose, let go, let your guard down. You have to stay in control and be aware of your surroundings at all times. I broke this rule when I switched my phone to Do Not Disturb. I have to be more careful from now on. I will be the final girl. She might sound like some uptight little goody-goody, but the final girl is so much more than that. She’s strong. She’s clever. She has everyone in the audience rooting for her. But she can’t get cocky.
Don’t step over that monster, even if you’re su
re he’s a corpse. He’ll just come right back to life.
And get you.
Chapter Eight
Damir
The water behind the yacht churns in the afternoon light. I stare at the frothy waves, seeing Bethany’s face transformed in bliss. No other man has given her that. Our connection is far deeper than I imagined. She was made for me, only me. In that moment, I was the happiest I think I’ve ever been.
And then she had to go and ruin it by bringing up my cursed brother.
“We lost them after Cape Town,” Boris says behind me. “They could still be in South Africa, or they could have flown out of another airport. The jet is still there, and no other planes have departed that airport in the last twelve hours.”
“He won’t have stayed in Cape Town,” I say to the sunset. Mikhail will have immediately put as much space as possible between him and his last known location.
Boris told me how they escaped. Mikhail dressed the pilot and co-pilot in his and Ciara’s clothes and used them as decoys to fool the men we hired. Fucking amateurs, not realizing a man was wearing Ciara’s cocktail dress.