All the anger I felt moments ago, all the rage that built up inside me and mingled with the guilt of my own actions, drains from my body and all that remains is terror. I’ve pushed him too far. I’ve pushed and I’ve pushed, and then punched him. I punched the scariest fucking man in this city and thought I was going to walk away from it?
I’ve done some dumb shit in my life, but honestly, this might take the cake. Elijah Russo is not a man to be messed with. He’s not someone you hit and walk away from, and why would I be any exception? He claims to care for me, claims to have real feelings for me, but that affection can only run so deep before his brutality takes over.
The moment he bends me over his desk, both hands bound behind my back with what feels a lot like a tie, I know my time is almost over. All the false bravado I’ve shelled out withers away and all that remains is the pathetic princess everyone has always accused me of being. But there’s no one to save me now, no one to swoop in and pluck me from the bad situation I’ve found myself in. It’s just Elijah and me.
Quiet sobs tear from my throat despite my attempts to swallow them. I don’t want him to think I’m weak. If I’m going to die right here with my bare ass in the air and my arms bound behind my back, I at least want to do it with some dignity. Tears roll down my cheeks and drip onto the papers beneath my face, but Elijah doesn’t seem to care about the contents on his desk. In fact, I can’t tell what the hell he’s doing behind me. He hasn’t said a word since he hauled me in here, and the deathly silence is beginning to weigh on my frayed nerves.
When warm fingers brush across the top of my thighs, my robe doing nothing to keep my modesty intact, I jump. Where I expected his touch to be rough, it’s gentle, and I idly wonder whether he’s trying to lead me into a false sense of security.
A man like Elijah probably enjoys playing with his food before he eats it, toying with it until it can’t take it anymore, and then pushing even harder. It’s the game of cat and mouse I thought I could play and win, but I’ve come out the other side nothing more than a lion’s next meal.
Elijah’s hands travel up the backs of my thighs until they reach my bare ass, and the groan that tears from his throat almost isn’t human. The sound is as if he’s in pain, like the sight of my almost naked body spread out across his desk is painful for him to see, and maybe it is. Maybe he’s coming to terms with the fact he has to kill his plaything. That’s all I’ve ever been to him, a toy for him to stalk until the time came to start playing with me in person.
“I may be a monster in this city, Snow. I may kill people without a second thought and demand respect everywhere I go. I may rule with an iron fist and torture those who wrong me. But when it comes to you.” He pauses, as if he isn’t sure the words he’s about to utter are a good idea. “You make me consider things I’ve never considered before. I don’t like to see you in pain or upset,” he admits, and my heart does a somersault despite my better judgment. I’m still fairly confident he’s leading me into a false sense of security, giving me time to calm down, talking me off my paranoid ledge only for him to throw me back over when I least expect it. But try telling my heart that. The battered organ that no one has ever cared about rejoices at the idea of someone, anyone, caring about us in a way that isn’t purely one-sided.
“Then why did you make me do that?” I ask, swallowing the lump in my throat just enough for me to force the words out.
“Like I told you, Snow. You’re my woman, you will bear my heirs, and I need you to stand by my side. I’m not a good man, and I’ve never claimed to be. So I need you to be able to swallow the darker sides of me and my life, and spilling blood is a part of that.” His fingers slip beneath the front of the robe, gently tugging the ends of the tie until it parts. If my wrists weren’t bound behind my back, I would tug it closed again, trying to save some of the modesty Elijah keeps stealing from me.
There’s movement behind me, but I don’t bother lifting my cheek from the wooden desk. I’m powerless, and fighting will only make it hurt more. All I can hope for now is that whatever he has planned won’t kill me or leave me permanently scarred.
The sound of a magazine clipping into a gun fills my ears and causes my body to flinch. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to be near a gun again without wanting to throw up from the memory of what I did. When the cool metal brushes across the back of my thigh, my stomach lurches painfully. One minute he’s saying I’m going to be the mother of his children, and the next, he’s caressing a gun over my bare skin.
“You never seemed scared of guns when you were learning to shoot with your brothers,” he muses and my stomach flips uncomfortably. How does he know that? Wynter and I learned to handle guns at the estate, there’s no way an outsider should know so much about the intricate parts of my life behind the gates of our family home.
“How do you…” I trail off, thinking better of questioning the man who holds all the cards while I wait for him to show me his hand.
“How do I know?” The cool metal moves up until it’s pressed against the curve of my ass. An involuntary shiver brushes across my skin, and I honestly can’t tell whether it’s from the adrenaline, fear or something I’m not willing to entertain, but Elijah’s quiet chuckle tells me he notices the small bumps that appear across my backside, and he’s satisfied with what he sees. “I feel as if I keep telling you how deeply obsessed I have been with you from the moment I saw you, but I don’t think you’re truly understanding what I’m telling you, my sweet Snowflake.”
The gun moves back to my thigh, brushing across the sensitive flesh on the inside, so close to my core that my breath catches in my throat. His words settle over me. Just how closely was he watching me all these years? Of course it’s occurred to me that at some stage, he had to have been at the estate to know so much about my bedroom, but it never occurred to me that he was a constant fixture in my life from the shadows. A constant presence I was never aware of.
When the cool metal makes contact with my folds, I lurch forward, the fronts of my hips slamming into the corner of the desk in a move that makes me hiss in pain.
Elijah’s hand clamps down on my lower back, his fingers dig into me so hard I’m sure there will be bruises there later. “Stay still, Snow. You’ll only make it hurt if you struggle.”
A fresh wave of tears fall against my cheeks as fear grips me by the throat. I almost can’t breathe through the panic that claws at my insides to the point of pain.
“Elijah,” I whimper.
I’m not in the habit of begging for anything. Even in the bathroom at the restaurant when I begged him not to keep my family from me was a moment of weakness, but right now, I’m ready to drop to my knees and plead for my life. I’m not ready to die. I don’t want to miss out on Wynter having a baby and getting married, and I don’t want to miss those things for myself either. It’s not my time yet.
“Please don’t kill me,” I whisper the words before I can think better of them.
“Oh, little Snowflake. I’m not going to kill you,” he says, his other hand moving to rub my back in comforting circles. It’s almost enough to soothe me, but when he starts to speak again, I know I’m not going to like what he’s about to say. “What I am going to do is make you come all over this gun, and then I’m going to claim you the way I’ve been craving since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
I don’t like that guy🧍🏻♀️