I told her to be honest, but it still takes me by surprise when she nods, finally willing to let her mind be subdued by her body’s impulses.

  But it’s not enough for me.

  "Say it," I insist. "I want to hear you say it."

  Another mewl flees her and she moves her lips, grimacing as if the thought of having to say it out loud was causing her physical pain. But with every moment that passes without a response, she’s risking aggravating her situation, and she knows that. She’s running out of time, and the pressure of that understanding spurs her without any action on my part.

  "Please… touch me," she stutters, trying her best not to break eye contact, even as a shadow of hot shame streaks across her beautiful expression. "Please break your promise."

  I smile at her, but it’s not a benevolent gesture.

  "Good girl," I praise, moving my hand just a bit closer to her heated core. She whimpers and moans in turns, trying to force a touch that I’m not willing to grant.

  I never intended to. I just needed to hear her say it. I needed her to be honest with me, to admit that she wants me, to admit that she likes what I’m doing to her.

  And now that she has, I can properly punish her.

  Chapter 21

  Malia

  I can't move. I couldn't move all night. The longest night of my life.

  It's still dark out, but I can tell that the sun is about to make an appearance. A faint line stretches right above the horizon, a blue that's brighter than the shade of night. I can see it from where I'm lying, my body turned to the right as much as possible so I can face the window.

  Away from him.

  He's sleeping next to me, the calm and steady rhythm of his breathing telling me that he's still fast asleep, enjoying a deep slumber that I was never allowed. He said he wanted me to rest and that‘s why he was easy on me when he draped the rope around my body, but there‘s no way he could have been serious when he said that. Yes, the tied rope may not be as restricting as it could have been, but I'm still held in place in a way that's too uncomfortable to drift off to a restful sleep.

  Unlike when I first woke up in the other room, only one of my ankles is tied to the bed this time. He let go of my other leg when I promised I wouldn't kick him or "try any other funny business," as he called it. It was that eye blink of freedom that allowed me to get any sleep at all because it allowed me to shift my body and get accustomed to the rope running between my legs.

  That's the worst part actually. The rope cutting into the soft, sensitive skin between my thighs, keeping my swollen clit in a constant state of tension that wouldn't let me forget it was there, wouldn’t let me forget my desire.

  Forget about the fact that he elicited such strong feelings without even touching me.

  Forget that I begged him to break his promise because I wanted more of him.

  Forget that I was so close to finding a release I'd never expected to find here.

  Forget that he denied me release.

  He mocked me by hovering his hand so close to my arousal that I could feel it, despite the tense air still running between the two of us. He stayed true to his words, he never touched me.

  And I hate him for that.

  He fooled me. Humiliated me.

  He released a sinister laugh after I pleaded for him to touch me—and then he pulled away. He got another piece of rope to secure my leg and told me to get some sleep.

  Of course, I protested. I cursed at him, I cried ugly tears that I now feel ashamed about. And all it got me was another threat. A threat to beat me, to bring me back to that terrible room and make me sleep naked and tied up on the floor.

  I was almost impressed by the creativity of his cruelty and all the ways he could come up with to make me feel even worse. That way, he can always make it appear like it was a choice. Like I was the one who wanted to be bound in bed like this, bound with my center yearning for something that never came to fruition.

  After he finished his handiwork, he got undressed, visibly enjoying the way I took in his marvelous physique. To say that he's ripped with muscles would be an understatement. His entire upper body is sculpted by obvious hard work, a valley of muscles adorn his chiseled chest and abdomen, culminating in a luscious v-shaped trail down to his thick cock. He never took off his black boxer briefs, but it wasn't out of shyness.

  I could tell by the way he moved and flexed his muscles before my eyes. There was nothing coy about it. He wanted me to see the hardened length that was stretching the black fabric to its limits, and he noticed the reaction resulting from the sight.

  I hate him for that, too. I hate myself for wanting him in that moment. It doesn't make sense. How can there be such a strong disconnect between my body and my mind?

  "This isn't easy for me," he said before lying down next to me. "But it's necessary. Trust me."

  I didn't respond to that. There was nothing left inside of me that needed to be let out. I was exhausted, mad, and I felt hopeless.

  Sleep didn't come easy to me, but I craved it more than anything else by that point. It was the only escape left for me, the only thing I could hope for that would give me a way out of that dreadful humiliation.

  I don't know how long I slept, but I know for sure that it's over now. I'm awake, back to the horrible reality that's now my life.

  I jerk to the side when he shifts next to me. He moved a lot during the night, leaving me wondering whether he wasn't getting the best sleep either.

  But when I throw a cautious look in his direction from the side now, I'm met with his grey gaze, his eyelids still heavy beneath his ruffled hair. He looks annoyingly handsome and not at all like the monster I know him to be.

  A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Morning, sunshine."

  I turn away from him, pressing my lips together to stop myself from saying anything that would only worsen my situation. He doesn't react well to backtalk and disrespect, I know that much. It's better not to say anything at all when I'm not capable of saying something nice. And I'm sure as hell not going to wish him a good morning, as if nothing had happened.

  The bed springs creak and the mattress bounces when he jumps out of bed. I don't turn to see what he's doing, choosing to ignore his existence for now.

  But of course, he doesn't let that happen. I hear his bare feet tapping around the bed as he walks over to my side, positioning himself between me and the window.

  I want to turn away, but my eyes are caught by the sight of his morning wood.

  He chuckles, reaching down to his crotch to encompass his hardness.

  "I should shove this between your pretty lips," he says huskily, sending a sizzling shock down my spine. "Would you like that?"

  He goes down on his knees so that we're at the same eye level, tilting his head to the side as he awaits my response.

  "Does it matter?" I ask. "You do whatever you want to anyway."

  He rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head.

  "We've only been awake for a few moments and you're already testing me?"

  "I've been awake most of the night," I reply, frowning at him. "I wasn't exactly comfortable."

  He sighs, not deigning me with a verbal response, before he gets back up on his feet and begins to unfasten the knots that have held me in place all night. He unties my leg first, watching as I stretch my foot and bend my knee for the first time in hours.

  I sigh with relief when he frees my wrists, finally allowing me to lower my arms.

  "Come, sit up."

  His words are spoken surprisingly softly and not laced with his usual commanding tone that I've gotten used to. I cast him a puzzled look when he brings his arms behind my upper back to help me sit up.

  "On your knees," he adds, still supporting me as I try to balance myself awkwardly. "If you can."

  I huff, about to make a sarcastic remark when I realize that I'm light-headed and the room begins spinning as I try to position myself the way he asked. I tumble to the side and probably would have collapsed on the mattress—or fallen to the floor next to the bed—if it hadn't been for him. He stops my fall, propping me against his sturdy frame while I try to compose myself

  "Careful there," he cautions, still speaking in that oddly soft tone.

  He leans down to me, brushing the hair away from my face before his eyes lock with mine, a piercing grey gaze that holds me as steady as his hands do.

  "I'm sorry, it's just-"

  "Don't be," he stops me. "This is perfectly normal. The rope has cut off the blood flow in several places. It's normal to feel a little light-headed."

  I don't know how to feel about the way he's treating me now, about the way he pins a strand of hair behind my ear, about the way he wipes away the thin layer of sweat that is gathering in little droplets on my forehead.

  About the way he looks at me, his face marked by actual concern.

  Is this part of his game?

  And why am I falling for it?

  Chapter 22

  Nate

  The sigh she releases when I remove the rope from between her legs is the sweetest sound I can imagine. It's a divine blend of relief and arousal, the result of a dance between two emotions that appear to reside at polar opposites of the psyche.

  I know she's feeling both negative and positive, and she's as confused as she should be. Watching this discovery emerge in a girl never gets old, I'll admit. And while I knew that I'd have to get her this close to me, that I would have to train her in the art of seduction and teach her how to draw a man's interest—I never expected to find such a responsive little nymph hidden inside of her.

  A blush creeps across her cheeks when she looks at me, her expression laced with a taste of fury, as it has been ever since last night.

  I don't blame her. She's just been punished for the first time, really punished. And as much as she may have suffered because of it, the sensation wasn't all bad. It wasn't pain I chose to use to put her in her place. It was confinement. That and humiliation.

  And I'm sure the latter is what hit her the hardest. The shame of being left alone with her lust, not offering her the release she so desperately craved.

  "Feeling better?" I ask, continuing to observe her as she cautiously stretches her limbs and makes a move to climb off the bed. The rope left its mark on her skin, painting a pattern of deep red stripes along her upper body and especially the area around her core.

  "A little," she says without looking up at me.

  She's sitting at the edge of the bed, her tiny feet dangling above the floor while she twists and stretches them, her eyes locked on her toes as if she's seeing them for the very first time.

  "I need to go to the bathroom," she whispers shyly, her eyes trailing up to me with a pleading look.

  I nod, offering her my hand so she can get up on her feet. "Sure. Let's go."

  She disregards my offer and jumps to her feet without my help, instinctively covering her delicious nakedness.

  "Like this?" she asks, throwing a petrified look toward the door.

  "I'm sure the guys are still sleeping, but you can throw on the ugly sweats if you prefer."

  I point toward the pile of grey fabric she left on the floor last night.

  Her eyes narrow as she regards the unflattering outfit, but she only hesitates for a moment before she walks over to the pile, sorts the clothing and slips into the sweatpants and hoodie with swift, angry motions.

  "It's better than nothing," she murmurs. "But didn't you say I'd get something else to wear eventually?"

  She turns, a frown kissing her pretty features. "Or is nude my only other option?"

  "Don't be a smart ass," I warn as I approach her. "Or you'll regret it."

  She bites her lower lip as if she was biting down on the sassy remark that's dancing on her tongue. A soft mewl escapes her when I grab her by the upper arm, pulling her close to me as we head for the door.

  It's still very early in the morning, but it seems that we're not the only ones awake. I hear noises coming from the kitchen as I guide her toward the bathroom, and just as I throw a curious look down the hallway, Mike emerges, offering a nod in lieu of a good morning greeting.

  "Got a minute?" he asks, glancing at the girl for a split second. "Alone."

  The look on his face tells me that it's serious and I shouldn't put him off, but I'm not sure how I feel about leaving her all by herself.

  "You don't trust me," she says, sounding weirdly disappointed. "What do you expect me to do? Climb out the second floor bathroom window and run out into the valley screaming for help?"

  "That's exactly what I was thinking," I admit. "Though I would hope you're smarter than that."

  She huffs. "Only one way to find out, right?"

  I want to spank her sassy little ass for that comment, my hand instinctively and involuntarily curling into a fist with an urge to inflict pain.

  "Listen girl, you'll have a bullet in your tight little ass long before you'll be able to leave these premises," Mike hisses from behind my back, pointing at her as he steps forward. "So don't even consider pulling that kind of shit on us because-"

  "I think she understands," I interrupt gruffly, lifting my arm to stop Mike from moving any closer toward her. "Right, Onyx?"

  I'm surprised to see a veiled expression of amusement on her face as she looks back and forth between me and Mike. His threat didn't intimidate her in the least, it seems. Just a day ago, she was trembling with fear by his mere presence, but now she can barely hide a smirk as he tries to intimidate her. She appears to feel safe—and maybe that's because she knows where the real danger lies.

  She looks at me as if I was her confidant, nodding when she assures me, "No funny business. I'm smarter than that."

  There's a flair of menace in her eyes when she looks at me before turning her back.

  "You're dead if you try to run, missy!" Mike yells after her.

  "I think she understands. Calm down, buddy."

  Placing my hand on his shoulder, I guide Mike down the hall back towards the kitchen. I don't know why I'm feeling so protective over her, but even the thought of him standing too close to her is unnerving to me.

  “What’s up?” I ask him once we’ve moved away and out of hearing distance from the bathroom door.

  Mike casts a suspicious look toward the bathroom door, as if he was afraid she could overhear us. His face is serious when he leans in to speak to me.

  “I looked up this Jayson Bowlan guy, like you said,” he begins in a whisper. “Wasn’t even that difficult to find him. Apparently he’s some kind of magician, or like psychotherapist or something. He hypnotizes people with some kind of magic trick—and apparently it’s so awesome that they pay him huge sums of money to do it. The guy is loaded!”

  I shrug, unimpressed. Wealth isn’t something that catches and keeps my attention. I grew up in a world where money was never an issue because everybody had it. And that hasn’t changed for me, even though our current circumstances don’t suggest that there’s a lot of money behind any of us.

  “So what? The guy is a rich, magical therapist,” I retort.

  “Yeah, but that’s not all,” Mike hurries to add. “Remember that Bridgewater murderer they caught last year?”

  “Vaguely.”

  I remember the case. A man who had been capturing and killing women for years, the so-called Bridgewater murderer, had finally been arrested a few months back. It was all over the news because he’d been on a killing spree for years and the police had no clue who he was.

  “Well, get this: Jayson Bowlan was the guy who led the police to his arrest,” Mike goes on, his eyes widening into a conspiratorial look. “It didn’t say whether he used his special power or whatever, but if this girl is his girlfriend or something.”

  “Then he might be looking for her,” I complete the sentence.

  Mike nods enthusiastically. “What if he’s working with the police? If he could help them find that serial killer dude after so many years… he might be able to track us down as well.”

  I nod, furrowing my eyebrows as I peer over to the bathroom door, trying to make sense of this revelation.

  Is this Jayson Bowlan guy a problem for us? What if he is working with the police, already following a clue we didn’t realize we had left behind? We’re professionals and know how to stay off the force’s radar or know who to bribe when things do get a little tricky. But this is a different kind of threat, one we’ve never faced before.

  “What do we do about this?” Mike asks, shifting from one foot to the other impatiently.

  “Don’t worry about it for now,” I tell him, meeting his anxious gaze. “I’ll take care of it.” Chapter 23

  Malia

  Admittedly, there was a part of me that considered it. As soon as I closed the door, my eyes zeroed in on the possible escape route–the window straight in front of me. The bathroom is on the first floor, and it faces away from the backyard where Nate taught me how to shoot. Trees shield the valley in the distance, but but would also allow me to stay hidden once I made it outside.

  I seriously considered making a run for it. It would have been stupid for me not to.

  But I know that it would be even more stupid for me to try. I may get farther than any of them expect me to, and I may even be able to put some distance between me and the house before they even noticed I was gone. Maybe.

  But it wouldn’t take very long and they would notice that I was taking too long in the bathroom. And they would come after me. With guns. Even if I could get some distance on them in the meantime, they could just point a gun in my direction and let the bullet do what their legs couldn't–catch up with me.

  Would Nate shoot me? I don't want to believe that he would. But the other two wouldn't hesitate for a second.

  No, trying to run wouldn't bode well for me. I would only be risking my life.