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“Supposed to? Who gives a fuck about ‘supposed to’?” He scoffs, fisting his hand angrily. “You’d let Heller fuck you, but not me? Is that it?”

Heller.

The derisive way he spits out Adrian’s surname has me jumping up, stepping away, eager to escape the same old accusations.

“Desmond, I?—”

“He might’ve had everyone else fooled. You, too. But maybe that’s just how you get your kicks. You need a man to treat you like shit to get you ready? Fine with me, Loni. Trust me. When your future bride is a worthless slut, it’s easy to put her in her place.”

You’ll never be worthy of being my Offering…

I gasp. I can’t help it.

And then I lie.

“There was never anything between Adrian and me?—”

I don’t even get to finish my denial. Not really. I’m just beginning my thought when fury flashes across his features and Desmond is lunging up from the couch, hand snatching my wrist so that he can shake my whole damn body.

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid,” he sneers, my brain rattling around inside of my skull. “I’m not stupid. I won. You get that, you dumb bitch? I got the King to let me have you. And after we get married on Tuesday, I’ll make sure to rub it in Heller’s face every fucking chance I get. And you… I’ll be fucking you until you forget you ever let some other guy have that pussy before I did.”

He wrenches my arm again, shoving me away this time. I know that’s exactly what he planned on doing in my bedroom ifI’d gone along with his commands, but hearing him promise to fuck me… knowing that, as his wife, I’ll eventually have to…

“Don’t touch me,” I gasp, rubbing my wrist. “You stay away from me.”

I just wanted the few feet between us to stay there. I should’ve known better, because he stalks toward me.

“Do you know how lucky you are that I’m willing tomarryyou? You should be one of the Used, but I’m letting you be my wife. You should be grateful.”

Grateful?Grateful?

I’m scared. I’m angry. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, and no matter what choice I make, it seems like the wrong one. And now this pompous dickhead thinks I should let him fuck me because he’s forcing me to marry him?

Hell, no.

Going up on my tiptoes, nose to nose with Desmond, I snap, “If I had any choice in this, asshole, you wouldn’t even be the last one!”

Screaming at him felt pretty good. For a couple of seconds, I’m glad that I shot back, but my satisfaction disappears the instant he rears his hand and swings, slapping me full-strength across the face.

The force of his hit has me landing on the floor of the living room in a crumpled heap. My cheek screams in agony, but I clamp my teeth together, holding back the scream from my throat.

His expensive shoes land inches away from the hand I use to pull myself into a seated position.

Desmond crouches down so that we’re on the same level. “Remember that, Loni. Youdon’thave a choice. Youwillmarry me on Tuesday. Unless you want the King to get involved.”

If I never see Jack Collins again, that would be too soon.

I shake my head, my other hand clapped to my cheek, trying desperately to quell the throbbing. My ear is ringing. My heart pounding.

And yet, when I meet the certainty in his stare, I refuse to give him what he wants. I refuse to fight back again.

Instead, I nod. “And you’ll see me in that damn dress then. Not a minute sooner.”

It’s not a victory. Lying on the floor, praying my Dad doesn’t walk in on Desmond hovering over me… when he nods, letting the matter of seeing the wedding dress drop, it’s not a victory.

But I take it as one anyway.

Something tells me that, as his wife, there will be plenty of battles to fight and (hopefully) win.