Page 22 of Betraying Family Vows

He grabs another chair and drags it across the floor, placing it a few feet in front of me before taking a seat.

He just stares at me with those stupid blue eyes.

"I saw how you looked at me in that dress," I continue, growing desperate to break through that stillness. "I know you want me."

Still, he doesn't speak. His silence slices through me sharper than his knife.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, head tilting. Watching. Waiting.

"Fuck. Say something, you bastard," I say, my frustration coming out finally.

"You think your body is a weapon," he says finally. "It's not."

Heat floods my cheeks. "Worked well enough to drug you at the wedding, didn't it?"

He nods. "You've been taught to use what you have. I understand that. Me too," he says, leaning forward and resting his right elbow on his knee.

"Don't pretend to understand anything about me." My voice rises, the honey evaporating. "You know nothing."

"Look, you can strip naked right here," he says. "Wouldn't change a thing. You drugged me. Tried to kill me or have me killed. And now you think a little sultry tone and your come-fuck-me eyes will save you?"

I stare daggers at him. If looks could kill, I'm pretty sure he'd fall over in that chair right about now.

"You're not in control here," he says. "I am." He just looks at me. Still as a predator. I hate how he refuses to rise to my bait.

God, I hate him.

I want him dead.

So why does my heart pound like this under his watchful eyes and his close presence?

"You know what else I know?" he continues. "You're smart, Alepoudítsa. I'll give you that. I mean, you fooled me. So whoever told you your only value is what's between your legs did you a disservice."

"I don't need your analysis," I snap, yanking against my restraints.

The ropes hold. Dimitri doesn't move.

Shit. No one's ever spoken to me like this. I don't like it.

"What the hell do you want from me?" I shout.

Dimitri reaches forward suddenly. I flinch, but his fingers brush the hair out of my face. His touch burns against my skin.

"Answers," he says, pulling a gun out and resting it on his lap. "So let's begin."

8

ATHENA

He leans back in the chair across from me, gun resting casually in his lap, as if we're two old friends about to catch up over coffee instead of this sick game.

"You really think I killed your father?" Dimitri asks, his finger tapping against the gun on his lap.

"You're a Kastaris. Your family eliminates problems, and my father was a problem, I suppose."

"For who?"

I roll my eyes. "For you, I guess." I lean forward as far as the ropes will allow. "You don't even care why I did it, do you? Drugged you. You haven't even asked." My voice rises. "Not once have you asked who my father was. Why I'd come after you. Why I'm sitting here tied up like some disposable whore."