Authors: Karyn Lawrence
“Didn’t you say you were married to a man like me?”
She slapped him across the face, stunning him with her temper. And when she was successful, it only fed her wrath. She wanted to claw his eyes out, to make him pay for everything. He was insane. After all he’d done to her, and her sister, he honestly thought she would be attracted to him? She reared back to punch him, but he held down her arms and stopped her. “Get your hands off of me!”
“Not until you calm down. If you keep struggling, I’ll find a way to make you stop.”
“You said you weren’t going to hurt me.”
He gave her a smile. “There are other ways to get you to be still.” He knew the perfect way: All he had to do was put his mouth on her. So she froze.
“Are you scared of your feelings about me?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. She was a little frightened by the thoughts of murder she had in her head, but much more frightened of what he was going to do.
“It’s okay,” he said in a hushed voice, brushing her hair behind an ear. “I’m frightened, too.”
She tried to tell him to stop, but he kissed her, muting her words. She leaned away from him, until there was nowhere else to go; her back was buried into the couch. He pressed his mouth against hers and that drove her deeper into the cushions.
“Are you uncomfortable?” He pulled back and viewed her with a discerning look.
Was he completely oblivious? “Extremely.”
He stood and dragged her upright beside him. The rapid movement made her head pound and the blood rush in her ears.
“Come here,” he murmured, backing up to the bed.
“No,” she said, alarmed. “I was uncomfortable because of what you were doing.”
“Stop resisting what we both know is inevitable.” His shockingly blue eyes cut into her, commanded attention. “You will give me what I want.”
Heat poured through her veins like lava, thick and consuming. He wasn’t the first man to say that to her and he had no idea how much she despised that phrase. “I’d rather die.”
His mouth opened to respond, to call her a liar, but she wasn’t. Then, he looked deep in thought, considering options and maybe considering her death. “It doesn’t have to be like this. I can make you… forget. I can make you forget everything before me.”
Any fear he’d caused her before was nothing in comparison to this. He could wipe it all clean. She’d changed her life to accommodate Paul, but this was a whole new level. She’d lose who she was completely. She wouldn’t know the man with her was a monster. And she wouldn’t remember Shawn.
“Is that what you want?” he threatened. “Can you move past it, or do you need my help?”
Kara swallowed hard and fought back the wave of terror promising to overtake her if her control slipped in the slightest. Survive. They were coming for her, possibly on their way now.
Wait, survive?
Forget it. She didn’t just want to survive, she wanted to fight. “I can move past it.”
The corners of his mouth turned up into a victorious smile. It made thoughts of bashing his face in with the nearby lamp flash through her mind.
“Prove it,” he said. “Get on the bed.”
“I want to know what you’re going to do to me.”
“I’m sorry, have I been unclear about that?” It was more surprised than condescending.
She took a step forward to the bed, to him, her calm demeanor in place. “I want specifics.”
“Specifics?” he repeated, confused.
“Yes.” It would be easier to plan her attack if she knew his.
“We’re going to have sex.”
“That’s too broad of a statement.”
“Come on, I don’t want to spell it out. I’ll just show you.” He put his hands on her waist and pulled her up against him.
“I need to know what I’m allowed to do,” she said as his arms snaked around her, his lips on her neck. The revulsion was immediate and she welcomed it, letting it strengthen her control over her body.
“What do you mean?”
“Can I go down on you?” She probably should have been more subtle.
He gave her an evil, knowing grin. “When I trust you, absolutely. But, darling, we’re not there yet.”
Her stomach was in knots. “Can I touch you?”
“Of course,” he said, his eyes shining. “I’m allowed to touch you?”
He hated the word
no
, so it stood to reason he liked the opposite one. She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
There was worry that she might burst into hysterical, nervous laughter when she opened her mouth, but it didn’t happen. The hand on her back slid upwards and slowly around the curve of her body, heading for her breasts. As she hoped, the permission had knocked his defenses down.
She turned as quickly as she could and wrapped her hands around the heavy lamp, swinging it towards him. She’d brought a man down with a skillet and was ready to add this lamp to her list of unconventional weapons.
He was unprepared but had lightning-fast reflexes. He spun away so only his shoulder caught the edge of the blow. The impact thundered up her arms. She swung again —
A foot crashed into her hip, and sent her flying into the side on the bed where her body cracked hard against the wooden slat of the frame. The collision knocked the lamp from her hands and when it hit the ground, the light bulb shattered in a flash of bright light.
There was no time to react. He wrapped his hands around her throat and lifted her up, until the tips of her toes could barely scrape the carpet beneath them. He squeezed so hard she could feel every muscle in his fingers and their effort to end her life.
She was losing consciousness, but knew this wasn’t the end. He didn’t want her dead. He had much worse plans for her, which he confirmed when he tossed her backwards onto the bed. His heavy footsteps took him to the bathroom and a drawer opened, only to slam shut a moment later. Her head ached from the lack of oxygen and when she sat up, he stormed back to her.
“No!” she screamed, her voice almost gone from the recent trauma. He had a syringe in his hand.
“I gave you a choice,” he said. He shoved her back and clamped one of his large hands down just above her elbow, more painful than any rubber band she’d ever had when getting blood drawn. “Don’t move or you’ll blow the vein.”
“You’re hurting me!” she protested in futility. She panted for air. “Stop! Please!”
But then the needle stabbed into her arm and it was done. He released his grip, letting the drug work its way into her, pulling the needle back.
“I don’t want to forget,” she cried.
“You’ll be begging me to make you forget in a moment.”
What did he mean? If that drug wasn’t going to wipe her memory, what was it going to —
Oh, shit, I’m on fire.
She screamed as the burning crept along her skin, searing every nerve ending. The pain was so intense she wanted to vomit, but when she moved her head to the side, the pain was worse.
“Stop moving,” he ordered.
She had no choice but to obey, and when she did, the flames died down to a level where she could just barely breathe again and form coherent thought over the pain. She had to lie perfectly still on the bed, tensed and take shallow breaths.
“Put your hands above your head,” he commanded.
The pain would be too great. “I can’t —”
He seized her wrists and raised them, making her scream again. If it was anything other than burning, she might have been able to be quiet. He pressed her hands into the mattress above her head and then released them. This was more effective than the handcuffs. She couldn’t move. If she tried, there would be extreme and immediate punishment.
“You promised,” she whispered and closed her eyes, letting loose the tears that had collected there.
“I lied.” His lips smothered hers.
She had to command her body to be still when his fingers fumbled at the button of her pants. The gasp of air she’d just taken had made her move too much, and she felt flattened by a hot iron on all sides.
“Don’t worry, it won’t last long,” he said.
“The drugs or the rape?” Unwise, but worth it. He stopped what he was doing to climb on top of her and used his full body to kiss her, making everything burn, his hands sliding down her body, scorching every inch of her. She had to just lie there and take it, let him do it.
There was a sharp rap on the door that made him cease.
The Italian words from the other side were hurried and loud, and it was clear Juric didn’t like them. He gave the same horrifying look whenever she said Laurel’s name that signified he was right on the edge. The hand that wrapped around her throat was a necklace of fire.
“Seems like the marshal can’t follow simple instructions and doesn’t care if you die.” The hand slid away, flames trailing in its wake. “Gotta admit, I’m surprised he found us, but I’m all for getting this over with.”
A few more seconds of burning and then he was gone from the bed. She could hear him moving around, followed by a sound of metal sliding against metal. He passed by where she could see him with a gun in his hand.
She heard the door open and slam shut, and she was alone.
A lifetime passed before there was anything to give her a clue of what was happening. Far off, a loud squeal of tires as cars approached and braked rapidly. She couldn’t breathe the sigh of relief she wanted to because of the pain. Rescue. Outside, there came a loud boom, like a cannon going off that shook the windowpane, followed by fireworks. No, gunfire.
She wanted to get off the bed, to either hide or run, but she couldn’t move without burning alive. There came another volley of shooting and shouting. She moved her fingers on her hand, sending pain straight up her arm.
Maybe it was this that distracted her. She hadn’t heard the door open or close, but she was aware she was no longer alone. He moved silently even though he was six-and-a-half feet tall. Ethan came into view, staring down at her with a critical look in his intense eyes. He knew something was wrong. She was lying in a strange position and much too still given the gun battle outside.
“Ethan?” she whispered.
He ignored her, surveying the room, then back to her. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you move?”
“No, he drugged me —” She should have been clearer because he grabbed her arm and she screamed. The pain changed to pins and needles rather than pure fire. Ethan’s hand was gone, but he shot her a look that told her she needed to shut up.
“It’s too painful to move.”
There was another loud explosion that made up Ethan’s mind. He yanked the pillowcase off of a pillow, twisting it in his hands. “We can’t stay here. Open your mouth.”
She didn’t know what he was doing, but she obeyed, letting him set the fabric he’d twisted into a rope in her mouth.
“Bite down.”
He didn’t need to tell her, because he shoved her over onto her stomach and tied the pillowcase into a gag, making her scream quietly into it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, scooping her up and putting her over his shoulder.
She passed out from the pain, but unfortunately came to mere seconds later in the doorway, where every step he took set her on fire over and over again. When would she be nothing more than ash? She hung limp, and the fighter inside her that never gave up was nowhere. She wished she would die, wanted it to end. He stormed out into a narrow hallway and headed away from the gunfire.
The pain was more acute now, but stabbing rather than burning, allowing her to regain the tiniest shred of movement. Her head turned just in time to see a man, dark hair and olive skin, approaching Ethan from behind with a gun.
Screaming did no good with the gag. She bit down as hard as she could and made a fist, tapping it into his leg with a repeated rhythm so he would know it was intentional. He swung around and she heard the gunshot, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the floor.
“Fucking hell,” he said under his breath, then swung back the original way he was going, giving her a view of the man he’d just killed: a bloody heap with blood spattered on the wall. This time, Ethan moved much faster and, therefore, rougher. The gag did little to quiet her as she screamed in agony.
It was warm outside. A pleasant autumn day, great for burning alive and gunfights. Ethan had her in the woods a moment later and laid her down, taking the gag off, giving her a reprieve while he knelt over her. She struggled for air through her clenched teeth, eyes closed, wondering how long he would let her remain like this. The absence of pain gave her a kind of euphoria.
“Whose blood is that?” she asked him quietly. When he’d rolled the pillowcase up, there had been blood covering his hands.
“Most of it was from the man watching the back door.”
Most, not all of it. They were probably resting here in the trees for him as much as for her, because he held a hand pressed to his waist, right below where the vest stopped.
“Did you get shot?”
“It was a knife,” he said, glancing at the wound and then covering it again. “That’s what I get for being slow.” He said it like he was disgusted.