I roll my eyes impatiently at her hesitation. I’m about to push her to continue, but with a deep sigh, she hooks her fingers under the dark fabric, moving in slow motion to free herself from that last barrier of protection.

  My cock twitches at the sight of her bare pussy lips, locking onto the seducing sight of her exposed core. She frowns at me and once again tries to hide her nakedness by placing her hand on her mound.

  "Stop being ridiculous," I tell her, reveling in the sight of her stumbling backward when I approach her in one deliberate step. She mewls when I reach for her wrists with both hands, yanking them up and joining them above her head. Her dainty arms are so slim that I can hold them in place with one hand easily, while I use the other to reach down to her middle.

  "No, please."

  I ignore her plea, pressing my palm against the soft skin right below her belly button. She squirms and tries to turn herself out of my grip, only provoking the opposite reaction from me. My grip on her tightens.

  Loathing flares in her eyes when she looks up at me. Sweet, delicious hate. It reminds me so much of the way Lailah used to look at me when we first started our training.

  I pull her closer, bending down as I move my face close to hers. The blush on her cheeks tells me that she's not immune to the effect I tend to have on women. She feels violated just as much as she's captivated.

  "Don't make such a fuss when we both know you don't hate this," I snarl in a low voice. "You may not understand what this is, but I can tell you this much: it's best for you to do as I tell you. Best and least painful."

  Fear washes across her face, but only for a split second before her expression converts into a hateful glare, her eyes narrowing to form a deep crease between her eyebrows.

  Her demeanor surprises me, but not as much as the words that follow do.

  "Oh, I know what this is," she whispers, a vicious tone lacing her voice. "This is sick and twisted."

  She pauses, licking her lower lip.

  "I know, because I have seen it before."

  Chapter 10

  Malia

  Thank God he didn't bring me back into that damp, cold bedroom. Despite the humiliating experience of forcing me to take a shower under his watchful eyes, I could feel my chest tighten at the prospect of ending up all by myself in the darkness again.

  I did as I was told, even obeying his command to shave while he watched. It was the most embarrassing experience of my life. My skin was burning with shame, and I know the blush on my cheeks was caused by more than the hot water raining down on me.

  But it was oddly comforting, too. After spending so much time in the cold darkness of that moldy bedroom, still wearing the clothes and the smudged make-up from the night when I was abducted, the hot shower felt like heaven, despite the circumstances. And I chose to focus on the positive. I chose to be strong, just like I know my best friend was when she found herself in a situation way worse than this.

  I can't let my fear win.

  I can't let my fear win.

  I don't know what lies ahead and I still don't fully grasp the extent of my situation, but if obedience is what it takes to make it through this, then that's what I'll do.

  Because if what he said is true, I'll be going home at the end of this. Either way, I'll be going home.

  When I stepped out of the shower, he presented me with a pile of clothes as unglamorous as they come. A gray sweater that is way too big for my small frame, a matching pair of sweatpants that hang loose on my hips, plain gym socks and a pair of sneakers that are two sizes too big. No underwear. I don't need a mirror to know that I must look ridiculous, and he confirms that with the way he inspects me after I got dressed.

  "It'll have to do for now," he remarks, as I adjust the drawstring of the pants to prevent them from sliding any farther down my hips.

  "Come."

  Much to my surprise, he refrains from tying my hands again or securing me in any way. I hesitate when he opens the bathroom door and beckons me to step out before him into the hallway.

  Should I run? Is there even the slightest chance I could reach the door at the other end of the corridor? How far would I get if I tried?

  And what would happen when he catches me? There's no 'if' in that question, because I'm sure he wouldn't let me get away.

  It would be dumb to even try. But I need to allow myself to at least consider it. I need to be aware, attentive, always on the lookout for a chance.

  Because as intimidating and restrictive as he is now, he's bound to make a mistake. And the more secure he feels about the power he holds over me, the sooner he will make that mistake.

  I can feel his eyes on my back as I saunter down the narrow, dark corridor. I notice that it is void of any decorations or other items that would suggest someone actually lives here.

  "Right," he barks behind me as we reach the door opposite to the bedroom in which I had originally been imprisoned.

  I comply, squinting when I'm met with the blinding spotlight that illuminates the room.

  At first the room looks like a kitchen, a barren kitchen with nothing but a counter with a rusty sink and faucet, no stove, no fridge. The only appliance I see is an electric kettle on top of the counter. There are no shelves on the wall, and the few supplies and belongings that the men store in here are lined up on the floor against the far wall. The room is in terrible disrepair, just like the bedroom, with the wallpaper coming off in several places and the air dank and moldy.

  There's a rather bulky, worn-out table with four equally shabby chairs positioned around it. I suck in a sharp breath of air when my eyes fall on the frightening array of items spread out across the tabletop.

  Weapons. Guns and rounds of ammunition, lined up in an organized fashion.

  "Sit," he snarls, gesturing toward one of the chairs.

  I cast him a dark look before slowly following his order. I pull the chair away from the table before sitting down, keeping a safe distance from the weaponry display, as if even being too close to it would put me in danger.

  "Don't get any ideas," he warns me, incorrectly interpreting my cautious look at the weapons. "None of them are loaded, and I doubt you'd be able to move quickly enough before I stop you."

  "I've never held a gun before in my life," I confess, cursing myself for my constant desire to speak the truth. "They scare me."

  He casts me a look that is hard to read, a mixture of confusion, concern, and amusement.

  "They're used for our protection," he says, turning his back to me when he fills the water kettle from the rusty faucet. He sets it back on the counter and switches it on before turning his attention back to me.

  "Tea or coffee?"

  Our eyes meet across the room but all I know to do is to respond with a confused look.

  "Nothing?" he probes. "It's fucking cold in here. I know I need something to warm up, but if you don't... fine."

  "Tea," I blurt out. "I'd like tea, please."

  He nods, producing two mugs from the cupboard underneath the single counter. I watch as he places a tea bag in each mug before adding the boiling water, moving calmly and with a naturalness that seems misplaced given the circumstances. He's acting as if all of this is normal, as if he hadn't drugged me, abducted me, threatened my life and the lives of my parents, and then forced me to strip down in front of him and perform the intimate task of taking a shower.

  What kind of person do you have to be to act like this? How often has he done something like this before?

  "Earl Grey is all we have," he announces, as he places one of the mugs next to me on the table, right next to a neatly lined-up row of bullets.

  "Thank you."

  My acknowledgement feels just as wrong as his nonchalance about all of this, and it's the least sincere thanks I've ever given. Serving me hot tea won't belie the fact that I'm his captive.

  "Where are we?" I dare to ask once he's taken his seat across from me. My breath hitches when I realize how preposterously handsome he appears as he leans back with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a sinister smirk on his face.

  His response is short, like almost everything he voices. "A safehouse."

  "A safehouse where?"

  "You don't need to know that," he responds. "It doesn't matter. We won't be staying here for long."

  "Why not? Then where are we going?"

  He sighs, visibly annoyed at my interrogation. For a moment, I fear that he'll just dismiss me once again, telling me to shut up and listen.

  But it appears that he's at least somewhat understanding and intrigued about my curiosity.

  "We'll go see the boss in two days," he tells me, speaking as if I knew who 'the boss' was. "And you better be ready by then."

  "Ready? For what? You say this as if I had any choice in the matter, or... an idea of what exactly I'm supposed to be doing?"

  "You will learn," he says, pinning me down with his unyielding gaze.

  "Learn what?"

  He clears his throat gruffly. Supporting himself on his elbows, he leans forward and regards me sternly.

  "The Scivola family is expecting a submissive girl. A girl who knows her place, who's willing to serve the man to whom she's been promised," he elaborates. "And the man Lailah was promised to, he's not just anybody–he’s the son of one of their bosses. He has seen Lailah only once, but he has heard stories about her that have inflated his expectations. He is expecting a seductive little slave. A beautiful toy for him to play with."

  A toy? That's what I'm supposed to become? A sex toy for a spoiled young man to play with?

  I don't even try to hide my repulsion at this revelation, my face contorting into a disgusted grimace that provokes a wicked chuckle from him.

  "You can't be serious," I hiss at him. "I'm a person! I won't 'learn' how to become anybody's toy! That's sick!"

  "Don't worry," he says in a condescending tone that makes my blood boil. "I'll help you get there. I will teach you."

  "Teach me? Why you?"

  He looks at me, no longer smiling as his expression turns earnest. "Because I'm good at it."

  "Good at... what?" I ask, even though I'm scared of the response.

  He sighs and shakes his head, signaling that he's not keen on giving me an answer to this one.

  "Is that why you made me shower in front of you?" I ask, trying to ignore the violent hammering of my heart. "And why you... touched me like–"

  "Trust me," he interrupts. "You won't get hurt if you obey my commands."

  "But you’re going to rape me."

  Thick silence stretches between us, filling the room with a heavy, foreboding atmosphere. I feel sick to my stomach, my vision blurring as I try to cope with the prospect of a man taking from me what I'm not willing to give.

  But he shakes his head.

  "No," he says, his narrowed eyes fixated on mine. "It's not going to be like that. I promise that it won't be."

  Now I'm the one shaking my head. How am I supposed to believe him? How am I supposed to trust this man? How can he even think I ever could?

  My hand is shaking when I reach for the mug of steaming hot tea on the table. I'm not even thirsty. It feels as if my throat has closed up, a wrench tightening around it that won't allow any liquid to pass. But I need the distraction. I need to do something to take my mind away from this harrowing conversation, this moment, this man.

  But as strong as my yearning for distraction may be, my heart still jolts with terror when I hear a sudden ruckus outside the house and then the main door is forced open viciously as if someone has kicked it in.

  Chapter 11

  Nate

  She jumps up from the table like a scared little mouse when Daveed and Mike barge into the room, both of their arms loaded with bags full of supplies. They barely acknowledge her existence, only casting a quick side glance in her direction before they drop the bags onto the table.

  "Think this will do," Daveed announces, before he rips the zipper of one of the larger bags open.

  The girl's eyes are glued on him when he reaches inside, producing a semi-automatic pistol and some extra magazines that he tosses on the table top right in front of her. Just what I ordered, an easy to conceal and quickly reloadable handgun, one for each of us.

  The girl jerks back, her eyes widening in terror as her grip tightens around the mug of tea in her tiny hands.

  Daveed notices her distress, but it's no reason for him to slow down or show any kind of consideration toward her. On the contrary, he regards her with a sinister smile as he retrieves another semi-automatic from the bag, placing it right in front of her nose.

  "She afraid of guns or what?" he snarls, and Mike joins in with his vile laughter.

  "Leave her alone," I growl. I get up from my chair and approach the table, placing myself between her and the guys while my eyes rest on the supplies they are depositing on the table. I ignore her terrified quivering for the time being and focus on the task at hand.

  "Good job," I praise while weighing the pistol in my hands, watching as they produce more and more rounds, magazines, and even some silencers.

  "What else you got? Food? Clothes?"

  They both nod and Mike points toward the door.

  "Still in the car," he says. "We have enough for four, five days, I'd say. Food, some drinks, clothes for her."

  I can see the girl moving from the corner of my eyes, fiddling with the odd-fitting sweatpants I gave her to wear. I hope whatever clothes the guys brought will be a better fit than this unflattering get-up. She looks like a kid in those clothes.

  "Let's hope we only need two days’ worth," I say. If the meeting with our boss goes well and we manage to convince him of our new plan with Onyx, then we'll be heading out to a different hiding place, one that is much nicer than this.

  If not... then we'll be back here right away, trying to figure out how to save our asses as fast as possible.

  "Well, that will depend on her," Daveed says, pointing a finger at the frightened girl. "You never shot a gun before?"

  Her charcoal eyes travel up to me before she looks back at him, slowly shaking her head.

  "I...I've never seen a gun before," she stutters.

  "For fuck's sake!" Mike exclaims, raising his eyebrows at me.

  "I don't like this." Daveed turns to me, his hands resting at his hips while he shakes his head. "How the fuck are we going to get her to an acceptable level within two days if we're starting with this, with nothing?"

  Mike doesn't say a word, but I can tell by the look on his face that he agrees with Daveed. I can't blame him. I can't blame either of them. They have every right to doubt this, especially because the matter is not in their hands. This girl, Malia, is so far from being ready that it seems impossible to get her to play the part we need her to in time. She may look like Lailah, but she shares none of the qualities that made her so desirable.

  I can't help the pained grimace spreading across my face as I face the ugly truth. And she only makes it worse by trembling when I step closer to her, my hand resting on her dainty shoulder when I turn back to the guys.

  "And yet, she's our only chance. Let's not forget about that," I insist. "We can either give up right now and either be dead or on the run for the rest of our lives, or we can give it a few more days and try to make this work."

  Daveed snorts. "Just look at her! She looks like fucking Bambi whose mother just got shot. Never seen a gun before in her life, probably a fucking virgin, too–"

  "Hey!" I cut him off with a thundering shout. "I know you don't know how to be a gentleman around ladies, but at least try to imitate one once in a while, will ya’?"

  A morbid glare is all I get from Daveed as a response. I'll fucking take it, if it means he leaves it be.

  The girl's cheeks are glowing bright red as she slouches in the chair, her shoulders so tense and up to her ears that she looks even smaller than she already is. She's breathing heavily, her small chest heaving erratically. But just when I fear that she's about to hyperventilate or start crying again, she takes in a deep, long breath and raises her chin, defiance flickering in her raven gaze.

  "I'm not a virgin," she insists, even though hot shame burns across her angry expression. "I don't know why it matters whether I am or not, or why it has anything to do with me being able to shoot a gun, but I am not a virgin."

  She pauses before she looks up at me, her face softening before she concludes, "And I can learn. If you want me to learn how to shoot, I will."

  Surprised at her sudden change in demeanor, I don't know how to respond. For a moment, I just stand there, my eyes locked with hers, while I try to figure out whether she's close to a breakdown of some sort.

  "I'll learn," she repeats, narrowing her eyes. "But you'll have to tell me why."

  That little minx.

  I huff, shaking my head before I turn to the guys, catching Daveed's annoyed gaze first.

  "Because we tell you to," he barks irritated at her.

  My fists clench when I hear him talk to her that way. That's my job. He's just a henchman serving under my command. Yet here he is, greedily reaching for a pinch of power as soon as it reveals itself.

  What a fucking loser.

  Even Malia seems to agree with that assessment. She doesn't appear to be intimidated by his attempt at supremacy at all. Her expression remains stern and unyielding as she faces him.

  "Yes, but why?" she demands to know. "Will I have to shoot anybody? I thought I was supposed to play some girl who's going to be married off to some mafia guy in Rhode Island."

  Some girl. I don't like the dismissive way in which she speaks about Lailah, but I'll let it pass for now. She will have enough to answer to once our training starts.

  "So?" She's looking back at me now, overstepping with the way she arches her eyebrows.

  I sigh, squeezing her shoulder as I bow down to her.

  "No, you won't have to shoot anybody," I say, choosing my words deliberately. "That's not part of the mission. But still, it's best if you know how to handle a gun, should the situation present itself–"