I’ll be back.
I didn’t hear a lock. Was he so sure of himself that he didn’t think he needed it? His steps moved away until I couldn’t hear them anymore. What was he doing?
I’ll be back.
That had sounded like a threat. My eyes found the bed and I quickly got up. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what he was going to do once he returned. How was I going to get out of this?
I tried to stifle my panic, but my heart didn’t stop racing and my hands were damp with sweat. The blades flashed in the corner of my eye. I knew I wasn’t a fighter, and I didn’t know how to handle a knife or any other weapon. I’d never had to hurt somebody. I wasn’t sure if I was capable of it. I approached one of the daggers. It was the least flashy one, no curved or zig-zagged blade. It was the one that scared me the least. I reached out and curled my fingers around the handle. It didn’t feel wrong like I’d expected, but I didn’t kid herself into thinking that I could do more with it than hold it. I took it off the wall. It weighed more than I’d thought and somehow I was relieved for something substantial to hold onto.
My eyes flitted around the room. Adrenaline had banished my terror for now, at least mostly. I hurried toward the window but there were bars in front of it. A bubble of hysteric laughter bubbled up my throat but I swallowed it. No sense in going crazy – yet. The windows were covered in a layer of dust, giving the illusion that the outside world was even farther away. Not that the outside of the house was any more enticing than the inside. This was a hopeless place altogether.
I backed away from the window and clutched the knife tighter. This was my only chance. It might as well have not been one at all. Steps rang out and for a moment I was frozen with indecision and fear. Maybe things would only get worse if I attacked Growl, but I wasn’t sure how that was possible. There was no light in his eyes, no mercy or kindness, nothing I could cling to and hope for an acceptable fate. Maybe there was little hope of me succeeding but…
My eyes darted to the bed, only queen-sized, which was strange for a man of Growl’s size. The blankets were dark red, probably to hide bloodstains. I shuddered as images bloomed in my mind, one more horrible than the other.
I sprang into motion, fear now greater than indecision, and hid behind the door. I needed to catch Growl by surprise if I wanted any chance at injuring him. But would that be enough? I had a feeling that Growl was like a bull in the corrida. A few wounds wouldn’t bring him down. An image of Growl with several knives buried in his chest still coming after me flitted through my mind. I needed to aim to kill.
A new wave of panic washed over me. This wasn’t who I was. This wasn’t who I wanted to be. For the first time in my life I hated my father. He’d brought this upon us, had forced us into a life neither of us had chosen. God, what was happening to Talia? Was she alright? She was too young for this. What if she was given to another mobster? She was only fifteen. I should be there for her, should protect her; instead I wasn’t even sure if I could protect myself.
Growl’s steps stopped right in front of the room. I quickly shook off my high-heels, then held my breath to hear better and lifted the knife. I’d have to aim for his throat. Even I knew that was the most vulnerable spot on a human’s body. But he had survived an injury to that spot once before. How could I hope to succeed in killing him when others had obviously failed?
He was much taller than me, so I’d have to drive the knife upwards. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to put enough force behind the stab that way. The door started to open and then Growl’s tall form came into view. Adrenaline pumped in my veins as I lunged at him.
Growl brought his bare arm up to fend off my attack. The blade sliced along his inked forearm and blood welled up at once. But his face didn’t show pain. He made a grab for my arm but I dodged him, using my smaller form to evade him. I slammed the knife upwards again, almost blindly. With a low sound deep in his throat, Growl gripped my wrist. I cried out in pain from the force of it and dropped the knife.
Cold fear slammed through me as I watched my only weapon land on the floor with a resounding cling. My eyes shot back up.
Growl’s face was a mask of nothing but I didn’t kid myself into thinking that he wasn’t furious. This man had killed people for lesser transgressions. I jerked back but his fingers around my wrist were relentless. That didn’t stop me though. I only had this one chance. He could very well decide I wasn’t worth the trouble and kill me.
I kicked at him but missed due to his quick reflexes. He thrust me toward the bed like I weighed nothing. I had no chance of stopping my fall and landed on my stomach on top of the mattress. The air rushed out of my lungs and for a moment I was certain I’d die from lack of oxygen in my body, then I sucked in a deep breath.
I tried to push myself up but Growl’s muscled body pressed up against my back, trapping me between him and the bed. Panic shot through me. I bucked my hips in an attempt to free herself. When that didn’t work, I lashed out with my arms, trying to hit Growl. With an impatient sound, he turned me around so he straddled my hips and grasped both of my wrists in one palm. Now I had no choice but to look into his face, to look at every inch of his scary body. He’d changed out of his blood-covered clothes and now wore a tight white shirt that was now covered with blood from the wound in his arm.
His hands were rough and scarred; they looked almost alien-like against my pale skin. A horrible terrified sound pressed out between my lips. Growl’s strange emotionless eyes found mine. His cheekbones and chin were sharp lines in his face. There was nothing soft about that man, least of all his heart.
His grip on my wrists didn’t loosen. He did nothing except stare. I knew I should look away. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do if you were faced with a dangerous dog? But I was not just trapped by Growl’s powerful body but also by the terrifying look in his eyes. His breathing was calm, no sign of our fight. For him this was nothing. One of his hands moved lower toward my stomach. My shirt had ridden up during our struggle and revealed the skin beneath. I tensed when Growl put his hand against my stomach. What was he doing? He stared intently at his hand resting against my paler skin. His fingertips and palm barely touched me. Slowly his gaze rose again to meet mine.
Growl was watching me like I was an unknown species, something he couldn’t possibly understand. And perhaps that was true.
I did another half-hearted attempt to free myself but it was almost laughable. Perhaps if he’d been capable of that kind of emotion Growl might have actually laughed about me.
“Stop,” he ordered calmly.
And for some reason I did stop.
GROWL
He did have a reputation, and he was proud of it. His reputation was feared, respected, and that was a great deal more than anyone ever expected from someone like him. The son of a whore. The bastard. The boy who never spoke.
He was meant for the gutter.
He’d never had something to himself, never even dared to dream about owning something so precious. He was the unwanted bastard son who’d always had to content himself with the leftovers of others. And now Falcone had given him what only a few weeks ago had been out of his reach, someone he wasn’t even allowed to admire from afar, one of society’s most prized possessions.
Thrown at his feet because he was who he was, because they were certain he would break her. He was her punishment, a fate worse than death, a way to deliver the ultimate punishment to her father who had displeased them so greatly.
And a warning. Nobody would dare opposing Falcone if that meant their precious daughters might end up in the hands of a man like him.
Cara, a name fit for someone like her, someone too beautiful for a place like this, for someone like him. A princess and a monster, that’s what they were.
Wide eyes. Parted lips. Flushed cheeks. Pale skin. She looked like a porcelain doll: big blue eyes, chocolate hair and creamy white skin; breakable beautiful, something that he wasn’t meant to touch with his scarred, brutal hands. His fingers found her wrist; her heartbeat was fluttering like a birds. She’d tried to fight, tried to be brave, tried to hurt him, maybe even kill him. Had she truly hoped she could succeed? Hope; it made people foolish, made them believe in something beyond reality. He’d got out of the habit of hoping a long time ago. He knew what he was capable of. She had hoped she could kill him. He knew he could kill her, no doubt about it.
His hand traced the soft skin of her throat, then his fingers wrapped around it. Her pupils dilated but he put no pressure into his touch. Her pulse hammered against his rough palm. He was a hunter, and she the pray. The end was inevitable. He’d come to claim his prize. That’s why Falcone had given her to him.
Growl liked things that hurt. He liked hurting in return. Maybe even loved it; if he were capable of that kind of emotion. He leaned down until his nose was inches from the skin below her ear and breathed in. She smelled flowery sweet with a hint of sweat. Fear. He imagined he could smell that too. He couldn’t resist and he didn’t have to, not anymore, not ever again with her. His. She was his.
He’d never liked sweet things, but perhaps she would change that.
He lowered his lips to her hot skin. Her pulse hummed under his mouth where he kissed her throat. Panic and terror beat a frantic rhythm under her skin. And it made him fucking hard.
Her eyes sought out his, hoping – still hoping the foolish woman – and pleading him for mercy. She didn’t know him, didn’t know that the part of him that hadn’t been born a monster had died a long time ago. Mercy was the furthest thing from his mind as his eyes claimed her body.
He tore at her shirt, revealing inch over inch of immaculate skin. There wasn’t a single scar or blemish. She couldn’t possibly be his. She was too perfect, simply too much.
He curled his fingers around her shoulder. Soft. Softer than any woman he’d touched. None of them had been like her, not even close, not even the same species if you asked him.
The bones of her shoulder were sharp against his palm. So fragile. She looked like a doll. Breakable but beautiful. Nothing he was meant to own. His skin looked dirty compared to hers and he raised his hand a few inches, half expecting her skin to come away smudged from his touch.
She was nothing he had ever thought in his reach. She wasn’t meant to be. Nothing he was meant to touch with his scarred, brutal hands.
He wasn’t worthy.
Not worth it.
Not worth it.
Not worth it.
Something hot and sharp clawed at his chest. He didn’t like it, not one bit. He pushed off the bed, staggering to his feet. She stayed on her back, eyes full of confusion and questions, and again that flicker of fucking hope. “You better stop it,” he growled.
“What?” she whispered.
“Hoping. It’s a waste.” He picked her up. To him she weighed nothing. He needed her gone, out of his view. He carried her out of his room and into the small guestroom, he’d never had to use before. She trembled against him and for some reason it made him even angrier. He dropped her on the bed and she let out a shocked breath. He turned on his heel, tired of looking at her, of wondering, of doubting himself.
It shouldn’t…it didn’t matter why Falcone had given her to him. She was his to do with as he pleased. He headed toward the door and slammed it closed behind himself. Tomorrow he’d claim her. Worth it or not. He fucking deserved something good in his life.
