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“We can hope. Have a good night. I’ll call you tomorrow if there’s any news.”

“Don’t be too hard on her.”

“I’ll be more than soft,” I promise before walking out. He doesn’t realize that softness will be so much worse.

Change of plans. Donuts are off the menu. Looks like I’ll be serving up punishment instead.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

GREYSON

She lied. After every warning I’ve given her, my pretty little ruin lied to my face. I can forgive most things, but a lie will never go unpunished. And my forgiveness depends on how well she takes exactly what she deserves.

I had a difficult time deciding how to impress upon my angel the severity of the situation. She loves pain, she enjoys humiliation, so my usual methods are useless. As far as I know, she only has one weakness. And I may be a terrible bastard for exploiting it, but she needs to learn. If we can’t come back from this, we’re over before we even had a chance to start.

“Grey?” Angélica calls from where she’s tied face-up to the bed. She tosses her head from side to side, trying to sense where I am. I stand far enough away that she can’t pick up on my scent, but she knows I’m here. I made sure to slam the door loud enough that she knows she’s not alone anymore.

An hour ago, I took her up to the third level without an explanation. I slipped a blindfold over her eyes and cuffed her to the bedposts. Beyond that, I didn’t touch her at all. Then I left her in silence and returned to my apartment to think. The lastpart wasn’t purely to torment her. I needed to be sure I was prepared to do this. And now that I’m here, I know that I am.

“I’m here, angel,” I answer finally, my words empty and cold. I walk toward her slowly, letting her sense the heaviness in my steps.

She is smart enough to know something is wrong, but she’s not intuitive enough to knowwhat. Of course, she thinks her lie to me is safe. It’s unlikely she’ll guess that Ashford disclosed intimate details about her past. I’d rathershehad shared her secrets with me, but given the situation, I’m just grateful someone was honest with me.

If it wasn’t for Ashford’s investigative skills, she might be sitting in a jail cell right now instead of lying in my bed waiting for her punishment.

“What’s going on, Grey?”

“You sound scared, little ruin.” I draw so close I can see the slight shake of her arms stretched above her head. “And you’re trembling. Do you have any reason to be frightened, Angélica?”

I don’t call her by her first name often, and I can tell that doing it now rattles her even more.

“No?” It’s a question rather than a statement. She’s doubting herself, which is a good start.

“Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” My ominous threat hangs in the air, dark and heavy as clouds before a storm.

Her naked body is tense as she braces for what comes next. She probably expects pain. Given the nature of our relationship, it’s a good assumption, but I won’t be using any implements tonight. No whips or knives for her to hide behind. No possibility of her sinking into the overwhelming sensation of it and turning it into something her body senses as pleasure. There will be no pleasure for her here. Little liars don’t deserve it.

I reach toward her and stroke my fingers over her bare tits, mytouch light as a feather tickling her skin. She jolts like she’s been electrocuted before her heart starts to pound in her chest. I count the frantic beats, the rhythm mounting with every one. She’s panicking. To calm her, I arch my fingers and claw them down her skin. She releases a gasp of relief that will prove to be very short-lived.

She thinks the soft touch was an accident, but it was a calculated maneuver to break her down slowly. I can’t torture her if she passes out right away from panic. I need to temper the gentle torment with harshness, steadying her just enough that I can bring her to the edge of terror again and again. And I’ll keep doing it until she can tell me the truth.

“How did the interview with the police go?” I ask, caressing her stomach with soft swirls of my fingertips. I can feel her abdominal muscles clench underneath my hand.

“F-fine,” she stammers through unsteady lips. She’s trying to play like she’s not bothered by my touch, but her body doesn’t lie as well as she does. I lift my hand and slap her stomach, destabilizing her fear once more.

“Any questions you weren’t prepared for? Anything they found suspicious?” I grab both of her wrists tightly before caressing the undersides of her arms all the way down to her shoulders. Then I drag my fingers back up her arms to repeat the torture. Her skin prickles under my touch as goosebumps rise high over every inch of her body.

“No,” she replies, her voice tight and strained. “The lawyer h-handled it all.” I rake my nails down her arms, and she gasps in surprise. “He didn’t let them ask me much,” she adds, the tremor softer.

Of course he didn’t. BecauseAshfordfucking told him my girl has a bloody past that needs to be avoided at all costs. Randall knew what was at stake if he let the cops anywhere near Angélica’s reason for leaving Colombia. And he made sure she cameout of that investigation looking as innocent as an angel.Which she fucking isn’t.

The cinnamon oil was a saving grace in the end, along with the blood on her hands. After they ran their tests, they discovered the blood markings were wrong. It wasn’t the right pattern of splatter for someone who had just carved a heart out of a girl’s chest—it looked like someone smeared it on her just like she said. They even picked up a fingerprint left in blood that wasn’t Angélica’s. The killer made a mistake trying to pin the blame on her.

“So no one suspects that you have any actual blood on your hands?” I trace her collarbones with the tip of my finger before sliding up to pet the little thump of her pulse in her neck. Her blood is thundering through her veins, and she smells like fear.

“G-Grey,” she whimpers, every muscle in her body pulled tight.

I continue to brush my fingers across her skin, giving her no reprieve from the soft onslaught this time. “Answer the question, angel.”