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The men in my worldare dangerous.

Deadly.

Oh, and they’re also delicious.

That’s what I think about Ian Salucci. I think this fucker is absolutely, positively, push-me-on-my-knees-and-fuck-me tasty. I hate that I feel this way about Ian. I really, really shouldn’t feel this way. Guys like him are bad fucking news. They’re brutal, really. They’re mean and cruel and the way he treats me is honestly pretty horrible.

I don’t care about because he’s also the only person who has ever given me exactly what it is that I crave.

Now the two of us walk side-by-side into the hotel my father has completely rented out. Money talks in this town, and my dad has a lot of it. He’s not afraid to drop as much as he wants to make a point and renting a hotel? That feels like a pretty big point.

I will say that Ian doesn’t hold my hand or touch me as the two of us enter the hotel. The party we left hours ago is still raging. If people didn’t notice our absence, they certainly notice our presence now.

Ian was right: his cumisdripping out of me.

We made our way through the lobby and back to the main ballroom. It’s here that I try to slide away from Ian and vanish into the crowd, but he stops me simply by grabbing my wrist. Then he raises an eyebrow.

“Where do you think you’re going, little flower?”

The question is simple: demure. If someone were to hear him asking me this question, they probably wouldn’t think twice about it, but I know something about Ian these people don’t. I know that he’s a monster. A villain. I know he’s the kind of man who kidnaps women and fucks them until they come apart for him. I know all of that because I’m that girl.

I’m the girl he fucked.

I’m the girl he wrecked.

I hate Ian a little bit because I know that no man is ever going to measure up to him. Not ever. Anyone I happen to touch or play with or fall in love with after this will be desperately, hopelessly compared to Ian Salucci: monster.

“I need a drink.”

He considers this. For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse me, but apparently, Ian decides that I’ve been through enough because he places his hand on my lower back and leads me to the bar. It’s there that he leans over the counter and orders us two whiskeys. I’m both relieved and surprised he isn’t going to force me to drink more champagne. I had that earlier in the night. I don’t want it now.

I have a feeling that when I look back on this evening, my thoughts will be firmly divided into two parts: the me that existed before he took me and the me that exists after. These are not the same woman. I am not the same person who was stolen away.

I know now that my father has double-crossed Ian somehow. He’s pissed him off to the point that Ian kidnapped me. I don’t know what his next move is going to be, either, but I do know that I have to go along with whatever Ian wants or I’m going to pay dearly.

Ian is the kind of person who seems to think that he’s untouchable. Maybe he is. When it comes to my father, though, Ian still needs to watch his back because my dad?

My dad is bad news.

The whiskeys arrive. Ian tips the bartender. I have to respect him for that. Sure, he’s the kind of guy who kills for fun and who basically raped me, but at least he respects the waitstaff. I chug my whiskey while Ian sips his. Instantly, the alcohol starts to burn my belly and warm it up at the same time. Good. The less I feel for the rest of the night, the better I’m going to be.