His gaze remained on mine for what felt like an eternity, my hands lay limp against his chest. He let out a heavy breath.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice sliced through the thick air between us.
I flinched, my stare breaking from his, darting across the room-over the wall, the rumpled bed, the fireplace. Anywhere but him.
Everything was freaking close. His hand was a heavy weight on my thigh, the other hooked behind my knees. His steady heartbeat beneath my palm was so different from my own.
What did he want me to say? That I wanted to fly? My body tensed, a thickness forming in my throat.
A few more seconds and I would have been free. My hands briefly clenched.
From him.
For everyone.
And he ruined it.
"I won't ask you again." His tone was casual, as if discussing the weather rather than threatening me. I still couldn't look at him. I bit my lip, my stomach churning with unease.
He moved. I stiffened, my gaze snapping back to him against my will. He was staring straight ahead, his lips pressed together. A frown marred his features, making his scar appear more severe. Before I could gather a thought, he moved with a sudden, harsh force, throwing me onto the bed. The impact knocked the air out of me. I bounced on the mattress, landing on my back, the world spinning for a second.
He didn't have to be such a prick. I freaking get it. Listen, or face the consequences. He might as well just write it on my forehead. A sharp pain shot up my back.
Definitely broke a bone. I gasped, struggling to take in air. Did every single person in the mansion have to be a freaking prick?
My gaze fixed on the golden chandelier moving gently above. Images of what might happen flashed through my mind. I should scream. I should fight. But who would come? The women downstairs would probably squeal at my suffering; they did make it clear I wasn't wanted.
His shadow fell over me. I wouldn't look at him, wouldn't give him the satisfaction as he took from me. I just wouldn't.
"I don't fuck unwilling women." The words were cold, laced with offense.
My eyes shot to his, surprise washing over my face as if he'd grown two heads. My breath caught.
Gosh, I'm such an idiot. Why would he force himself on anyone when women probably threw themselves at him? Look at him. All power, money, and I hated to admit it, but he was handsome, pulling off the rugged look.
Then there was me.
No name, no wealth, just a dirty servant. As Isabella had so often screamed, I wasn't much of a looker either.
He looked down at me, his eyes narrowed. "Sit up straight." It was a low command, a warning. I pushed myself up on trembling elbows, sitting upright. My hands curled around my stomach, looking at my lap, unable to look at him.
Guess I overreacted.
I glanced at the door; the need to run, to be anywhere away from him, coursed through me.
This entire situation confused the heck out of me.
My chest tightened. Why was I here? Looking at him, he wasn't a fan of whatever this was either. A servant wasn't worth all this trouble.
The more I thought about it, the less it made any goddamn sense.
"Look at me." His voice cut through my thoughts. I swallowed hard, my body frozen. I dug my nails into my own elbow, trying to ignore his presence above me. His hand fisted in my thick curls. Before I could react, he yanked my head back, forcing my neck into a painful arch. A whimper escaped my lips.
Okay, okay, so ignoring him was also a bad idea. I'll put it up there with a million other things not to do when it came to him. I held back my glare, my hand flying up to his wrist on instinct.
His green eyes had darkened. "Next time I tell you to do something, you do it." His voice dropped to a terrifying whisper. A bead of sweat slid down my temple. "You're tied to us. Every single little fucking thing you do." His grip tightened, and I bit back a wince.
How unoriginal. It was always about reputation with these mafia families. For a moment, I had thought maybe he stopped me from jumping off because deep, deep, deep down in the pits of hell somewhere he held some softness behind all the cruelty.
I was wrong. He didn't give a jack shit; my heart tightened at the realization.
All he cared about was his name, his reputation, and unfortunately, I was now a part of it. Everything I did, good or bad, reflected on them. Good, I thought with a spark of resentment. We can all suffer.
He leaned in, his breath fanning my face. My body instinctively shrank away, my gaze darting over his harsh features: his square jaw, his broad nose, lingering on the scar that caused a strange urge to reach out.
Everything about him sucked me in.
I hated it.
What the hell was happening? I didn't want this brute near me. I held my breath; no way I was feeling whatever this was...
while he held me in place by my hair.
There had to be something terribly wrong with me.
His voice dropped again, a terrifying whisper, his eyebrows furrowing. "...stains a reputation we've worked hard to build," he continued.
His hand moved from my hair to my neck. I flinched, bracing for the impact, my eyes locked on his. I knew this wasn't the time to test him.
But his fingers didn't squeeze. Instead, one rough finger stroked the pulse hammering along my throat. My eyes fluttered shut, tingles erupting everywhere his skin touched mine. "So if you think I'll let a woman like you ruin our name," he spat, the words dripping with disgust.
A woman like me. The words echoed in my head, a constant reminder of my place beneath their feet. I didn't care what he thought of me. I didn't. The tightness in my chest begged to differ, though.
His hand finally closed around my neck. The hold was firm, a demonstration of how easily he could snap it. My heart hammered against my ribs, I broke eye contact, staring down at the possessive hold of his fingers.
"Eyes up here," he snapped.
A shiver wracked through my frame. My gaze jerked back to his. My hands clenched on either side of me. His eyes were empty, no emotion behind those green eyes. It was the most terrifying thing of all.
He pulled me by the back of my neck, bringing my face close to his until our lips were almost touching. My stomach fluttered. "Next time, I won't be so nice," he snarled, his lip curling.
Then, the door swung open with a loud crack, shattering the tense bubble between us. He released me as if my skin had burned him. I gasped, taking a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves, looking at the door.
Kaden leaned against the frame, a smirk playing on his lips. I froze. No. Not him, too.
"Started without me, brother?" he drawled, a teasing lilt in his voice.
He took slow strides into the room, his grey suit clinging to his broad shoulders, his blonde hair slicked back. His brown eyes roamed over me, his gaze a physical touch that left a trail of unwelcome sensation along my skin. Then his eyes narrowed.
"You look like a whore," he growled. My eyebrows drew together. Of course I do. Your maids dressed me like one. I bit back my retort.
Ace stood, unmoved. "You wanted to keep her," he stated flatly, holding his brother's stare. It was a silent conversation, one that excluded me entirely.
"Keep her in check," Ace said. He turned and walked out without a backward glance, the door slamming shut behind him. I flinched.
Why hadn't he told Kaden what I'd tried to do?
Kaden watched the doorway, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before his signature smirk returned. He moved to the bed, settling beside me. I looked away, twisting the fabric of my dress in my hands. The scent of his expensive cologne filled the space between us.
Before I could speak, his hand shot out, grabbing my arm and pulling me onto his lap. I let out a startled squeal as my thighs straddled his. He ignored it, dipping his head to the crook of my neck.
Was he sniffing me?
I looked down at the crown of his blonde head, my eyes wide, but my body was already betraying me, softening against his chest. Warmth spread through my veins. He ran his nose along the column of my throat; my head fell back of its own accord, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.
After everyone's harsh treatments, his touch felt comforting, like drinking a cold glass of water after a long day. My eyes fluttered shut. He remained still, his nose pressed against my skin. Then his large hand settled on my waist, and I froze. I had to say something. Maybe he wasn't all too bad. Maybe he would listen.
"Kaden," I whispered.
He groaned against my neck, the sound vibrating through me, and pulled me closer until my chest was flush against his. My breath quickened; a shiver crawled up my spine.
"Talk," he mumbled, pulling away to look down at me.
It's not that hard. Just tell a man who probably skinned people alive that you didn't want to sleep with him. Not that hard. Not that hard at all...
He stared, his expression unreadable, waiting.
Okay, okay. We can do this. Just say something.
"Can y‐you give m-me time?" I stuttered, the words clumsy and small. Shit, I tried.
My gaze dropped to his hand splayed across my waist, so large it nearly covered my entire stomach. A reminder of how easily he could break me. Silence stretched. I waited for him to say anything, probably that I was out of my goddamn mind.
I risked a glance upward. His brown eyes were still fixed on me, giving nothing away.
"Only tonight," he said finally.
A day. Well, that sucked. That wasn't enough. I needed a month, maybe never if I got lucky.
I couldn't possibly tell him that, of course. I swallowed hard.
"A week, please," I pleaded, my voice cracking, sounding foreign to my own ears. It was pathetic. What was even more pathetic was trying to hold his gaze. They're just eyes, right? Sharp, brown, emotionless ones that looked through instead of at me.
Fucking creeping me out.
His large hand moved toward my cheek. I flinched, bracing for a blow. He wasn't. Isabella,
He wasn't Isabella.
He wouldn't. Or maybe he would. Maybe he was no different. They were all the same. All they did was hurt people, hurt me.
His finger brushed my cheek with the slightest touch, his gaze softening, and for a moment, he wasn't the terrifying Don. He was just a man. One who looked at me like I held the world.
Shit, I was losing it.
He was Kaden Santos, a man known for being sadistic, cruel. I couldn't afford to forget that, even if the way he was looking at me now sent a confusing flutter through my stomach.
He cupped my face firmly, tilting it toward his.
Then he kissed me.
His lips were firm against mine. His tongue swept into my mouth, a claiming, possessive act that left no room for doubt about who he believed I belonged to. I found myself mimicking his movements, my hands rising to rest on his chest. A hot clench low in my belly made me stiffen.
What was happening?
His lips moved with more urgency, rougher now, his hand tangling in my hair to angle my head for a deeper kiss. Thought dissolved into sensation. All the fear and noise blurred into the background until there was only this-only him and the claim of his lips against mine.
Even if he was my captor.
He pulled away, his thumb brushing my swollen bottom lip.
"Only a week," he murmured. I sighed in shaky relief. A week wasn't enough, but it was something. Maybe by then, I could figure something out.
He shifted, lifting me off his lap, and moved toward the wardrobe. I watched, confused. Was he just going to carry on after we just did that...
He rummaged inside for a moment before pulling out a shirt-a large one, clearly his.
"Arms up," he muttered, tension back in his shoulders. A cold dread trickled down my spine. Had I done something wrong? Had he changed his mind? The quick change in emotion sent chills down my spine, reminding me of Isabella.
Her emotions flipped without warning. She could be kind one second, softly combing my hair and praising how beautiful it was. The next, she'd be cursing her father, or calling her mother a "stupid bitch," which she would giggle at after. And yes, it did terrify the shit out of me.
But in those moments her focus wasn't on me, and she felt normal. Okay, maybe not normal, but bearable.
That peace always shattered. The next day, she'd be a different person-one who delighted in pressing a knife to my skin just to see how much I could take.
Such fun times, I held in a scoff.
He raised a thick eyebrow, waiting. Realizing I had frozen again, I quickly raised my arms.
He gave a thin smile, tapping my cheek like one would pet a dog. To him, I might as well be, from a servant to a pet.
Great.
He pulled the shirt over my head. It was the softest thing I had ever worn, falling to my knees; his cologne clung to my skin. Before I could process the strangely intimate gesture, he bent down.
I held my breath as his hands gripped my thighs, hoisting me up against his chest. I gasped, my legs wrapping around his waist on instinct to keep from falling. My body was pressed flush against his; I could feel every inch of him.
And I meant every inch.
He looked down at me, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A shocking wave of heat flooded me. "Time for everyone to meet you, little wife."
*****
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