Page 6 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

“I bet you respect the hell out of that guy.” He chuckles. “I’m sure it just warms your heart to know he’s raw dogging his side piece every chance he gets.”

“If that’s what you think, then sure.”

“It’s real generous of you,” Harry says. “You gonna raise her brat when he knocks her up?”

At that, my stomach revolts—triggering the memory of my father bringing Franny home. There was no apology when he saw the quiet devastation on my mother’s face. He demanded she take care of her as her own, and that’s what she did.

“I suppose he figures he can’t marry the mistress,” Harry remarks. “That ain’t widely accepted in your circles. Sounds like he’s got himself into a real pickle.”

“Maybe you should marry her,” I suggest.

“I got my own problems,” he says. “Don’t need to add someone else’s to the mix.”

I shrug. Clearly, they’re trying to get under my skin, but I can’t figure out why. Maybe this is how they think you’re supposed to torture a woman.

“What’s your goal here?” I ask. “Are we going to chat all night, or are you going to get to the point?”

Harry casts a sidelong glance toward the darkened space beyond us, and when I follow his gaze, I freeze.

He’s still here.

Twenty feet away, he sits in the shadows, his large body casually draped back in a chair that looks entirely too small.

All black militia gear, tactical boots, and a skull mask obscure his features. Every inch of his skin is covered, right down to the black leather gloves. He’s bigger than the other men, probably well over six feet tall and packed with muscle—his shirt pulling tight across his chest and arms.

Even in silence, he’s calculated and controlled as he watches his game of psychological manipulation play out.

Only now do I see how easily I fell into his trap.

He’s toying with me, hiding in plain sight as he observes this sham of an interrogation.

Did he know I was biding my time until he came back?

Did he want me to feel this false sense of comfort in his familiarity—and long for his return?

My gaze anchors to his. From this far away, I can’t see his eyes, but I want to. I have a burning need to know who he is. There’s an opening in the mask that appears as if it unhinges so he can talk, but right now, I can’t see his lips either.

“How much do you think Matteo will pay to get his little woman back?” Marv asks.

“I want to talk to him.” I nod at the man in the skull mask.

A beat passes as my request hangs in the silence, drawing out the tension. When he emerges from the shadows and advances toward me, my lungs stall.

This man is so much larger up close, and I was mistaken if I thought he was the safe one. He radiates darkness—the kind most people cross the street to avoid. It’s in the way he moves, the unmistakable imprint of danger some men carry in their DNA.

Why did I summon him back to me?

“Well?” He stops in front of me and cocks his head to the side. “You asked for my attention. Now what are you going to do with it?”

“So I guess this isn’t a stalking-me-because-you-have-a-crush type of scenario, is it?”

He lets out a brittle laugh. “Big ego for a woman who can’t keep her own fiancé’s attention.”

“Just tell me what you want from me,” I snap.

“Right now...” He prowls a slow circle around me, winding my hair around his fist until my head tips back. “I want you to answer the question.”

My heart hammers against my chest as I search his shadowed gaze, trying and failing to discern the eye color behind the mask.

“What question?” My breath catches.

“How much is your life worth to Matteo?” The heat of his words touches my lips, and that warmth bleeds down the length of my body. How is it possible that I could be so affected by someone I don’t even know? Never mind the fact that he’s a rare hybrid: a psychopath and an asshole.

He tightens his grip on my hair, sharpening the pressure on my scalp. The brush of his fingers against my cheek softens that roughness, but only for a moment. His palm slides down to my throat, pressing into the tender flesh.

“Nothing,” I choke out. “It’s worth nothing.”

He leans down, his mask ghosting over my temple. “Why are you with a man who wouldn’t burn the world to save you?”

Fire ignites in my veins, and goosebumps skitter over my arms as a visible shudder moves through me.

“I think she likes you, boss.” Harry chuckles under his breath.

“It’s an arranged marriage.” I force the words from my lips.

His grip bites into my throat as he whispers a warning in my ear. “Don’t lie to me.”

I heave out a frustrated breath. “I’m not.”

A heavy silence stretches between us, drawing out the tension, and I suspect that’s by design. This isn’t a truth-seeking mission. It’s another rigged game in his depraved little carnival of horrors.

“Are you loyal to him?” His thumb drifts to my pulse. “What price would you pay if it were Matteo sitting here instead?”

My lips part and then press shut again. Matteo has been loyal to me in the one way that I required, and he hasn’t exposed my secret. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t resent him for holding me hostage in an engagement that should have ended long ago.

Would I pay for him? Yes. But not in the way this man is asking.

“What is Matteo’s life worth to you?” His voice dips, softening at the edges. “Would you give yours to save his?”

That question ramps up my paranoia. First, they tried to provoke me with Matteo’s extracurricular activities, and now, it feels like they’re testing my loyalty to him.

The thought crosses my mind that he could be behind this scheme, but I quickly rule that out.

This man definitely isn’t Matteo, and it doesn’t make sense that he’d pay someone to stalk me for months.

“Tell me who’s asking.”

He abandons the pressure on my throat, only to replace it with a rough grip of my jaw. When his thumb skims across my lips, they part for him before my brain can rationalize it. Hunger and resentment war inside me as his thumb dips inside my mouth, and I taste the leather of his glove.

There’s something so uncivilized about it, I don’t know why I like it. But my body is running on instinct, not logic. And apparently, my instinct is to draw him deeper and close my lips around him.

A low, feral growl vibrates from his chest before he glances at his men. “Leave.”

They follow his order on command, and I suspect that most people probably do—if they know what’s good for them. Restless energy pulses through my body as I imagine how he might try to command me next.

There’s something about that mask, the slight tilt of his head, and the knowledge that he could toss me around like a doll if he wanted to. It’s nightmare fuel, but admittedly, he also could have crawled right out of my most depraved fantasies.

If this were a fictional scenario, I’d tell myself to do it for the plot. But it’s real life with real consequences—and if my father ever found out I let someone touch me, he’d probably kill me himself.

“Do you remember the first line of the gift I left in your office?” He releases his grip and drags his thumb from my mouth, smearing lipstick across my cheek. It leaves a stain of humiliation on my face, which I’m sure is exactly what he wants.

I squirm in the chair, trying and failing to pull a coherent thought from my brain.

He’s asking about the custom shelves on my reading app—or more specifically, what I labeled them as.

It isn’t just to taunt me. He has a reason, and I want to know what it is.

But I can’t remember what was on that first line.

Was it masks or knives?

No, that’s not right. Maybe it was guns…or primal play. I close my eyes and mentally scroll through all the things I can remember adding there.

There was rough sex, obviously. Choking. Breeding. Cock warming. Praise. And some domination for good measure. It was basically a blueprint to every hidden desire I’ve ever entertained.

Regardless, I shouldn’t be humoring his question right now because it’s none of his business. But there’s a pulsing throb between my thighs I can’t ignore. I feel him everywhere, and he’s barely touched me.

The worst part is—he knows it.

“Answer me,” he orders.

“Last I checked, I’m not on your payroll,” I tell him. “So if you want someone to boss around, bring back Marv and Harry.”

An annoyed sigh huffs beneath the mask, like I’m the one inconveniencing him.

He reaches down to the sheath strapped against his thigh, and a sharp snap assaults my ears. When I catch a glint of the stiletto blade reflecting under the moonlight, my resistance dies a swift death.

The cold metal skims my throat, tracing a path between my collarbones all the way down to the center of my chest.

A suspended silence hangs in the air as static fills my thoughts, adrenaline amplifying the featherlight touch. He tips the blade up, the sharp and deadly point a hairsbreadth from piercing the cage where my beating heart resides.

A drop of crimson leaks from my skin, capturing his attention.

“Have you figured it out yet?” His sinful voice slides over me like silk, triggering a full-body shiver.

I nod as the realization hits me.

Fear.

That was the first line on my list.

“Good,” he breathes. “Let’s see if you’re as adventurous in reality.”

I swallow.

What does that even mean?

He tilts the blade again and uses the flat edge to tease one of my nipples through the satin material of my dress. It’s a slow form of torture—another mindfuck, because he’s not even touching me directly, but now it’s all I can think about.

What would he feel like?

I choke on the pleasure that bleeds up my throat, trying and failing to squeeze my legs shut for some much-needed friction.

He edges closer, the heat of his body pressing into my back as his attention shifts to the thigh-length slit of my dress.

Using the blade, he drags the hem all the way up, exposing my thong.

When the cold metal glides over the tiny triangle of material, I jolt at the sensation.