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I stare up at him, blood coating my tongue and trailing down my chin. It’s a small amount. I didn’t get the chance to rip his face to shreds like I wanted. But the small dots of blood on his face leave me feeling invigorated all the same.

“I’m beginning to think you like to be punished, which means I’m just going to have to do better.”

Before I can react, he’s lifting me up and tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Fucker!” I snap, banging my fists against his back. I am not a potato.

A sharp slap to my ass is his only response.

He carries me down the steps, takes a left turn into the hallway and down towards the sunroom. The entire time I fight, kicking and punching, but he acts like a butterfly is attacking him.

As if he hears my frustrations, he says, “Baby, the wind can do more damage than what you’re doing.”

“Want to see my teeth again, asshole? I’ll keep making your face uglier.”

“Keep telling yourself that, but we both know my scars make you wet,” he retorts, amusement coloring his words. I growl, frustrated by how fucking unruffled he is. And because he’s not entirely wrong.

No, dumbass, he is wrong.

More curses flood out of my mouth, but they’re cut short when he drags my body down his front until my legs are wrapped around his waist, and he’s cradling me to his chest.

Oh, fuck this.

I lift my hands to scratch his face, maybe do a little eye-gouging, but instead, I just squeal. He swoops me backward, my stomach bottoming out as he sets me on the ground, flat on my back. He kneels before me, his arms on either side of my head as he braces himself over me.

Above him, the stars are twinkling bright, and the nearly full moon is casting a soft white glow down in the room.

It’s almost dooming that the sky happens to be completely clear of clouds tonight. Overcast skies constantly plague Seattle.

I swallow, tears pricking my eyes.

“Such a gentleman, letting me look at the stars as you murder me,” I mouth off, forcing the words through my tightened throat.

I really need to shut the fuck up. But I can’t seem to stop myself. Apparently, when I’m in a life-threatening situation, all I can manage to do is make it worse.

Some might call it fearlessness, but I just call it stupidity.

He supports himself on one hand as the other reaches behind him. I open my mouth, gearing up for more insults, when his arm reappears, a gun in his hand.

Another audible click of my teeth later, and I’m back to being choked silent with fear.

“You let a man touch you in here. Make you come,” he states, his tone bled dry of emotion. “Normally, I’d replace his fingers with my own, but I think you need something else to teach you a lesson.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I rush out, my eyes widening as he points the gun to my chest. “I-I’m really, rea—”

“Shh,” he hushes. “You’re not sorry yet, little mouse. But you will be.”

Chapter 16

The Manipulator

M illions of thoughts run through my head on what I could possibly say to get out of this. I’m sorry clearly wasn’t good enough.

“You’re going to shoot me?”

My bladder is threatening to explode, and the knowledge that I might die in a puddle of pee brings tears to my eyes.

“I’ve already said I’m not going to kill you,” he responds, his tone dripping with impatience. He punctuates his response by dragging the tip of the gun down through the valley of my breasts. The gun continues its path down my stomach, stopping at the edge of my leggings.