Page 10

Nine

Sebastian

My body shakes with the effort of holding myself together, and I drop my hands to make sure Ophelia doesn’t see. My heart is a battering ram, trying to escape my ribs. So much energy courses through my veins right now that I can’t begin to quantify it, so I just concentrate on the controlled facade I need to present.

Looking at Ophelia doesn’t do anything to help calm the raging…something that just ripped away all my senses. Her legs are spread wide, and thanks to the tiny skirt, I can see almost everything. I trace my gaze along the curve of her thigh, and it takes all I have not to run my finger up that smooth, tempting skin.

And I can. If I want to, I can. She’s trapped and mine to play with. And all at once, I do want to. More than anything else. How soft would her skin be? What noise would she make?

It’s been a while since I’ve spoken. I drag my gaze back to her face, and the wide-eyed terror there edges me back toward reality. She’s looking at me as if I’m a serial killer with a mask and knife. I need to capitalize on this.

Get it together, for God’s sake .

Fear. She’s afraid of me, and that’s good. She needs to be. It was Jacob who suggested cuffing her to the chair and denying her food until she gave in on the clothes. I can’t believe how well his tricks seem to be working, but I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m pretty sure he knows how to do actual torture, so mind games like these would be child’s play for him.

I get up from the floor and take the seat next to her, leaning on the arm as if we’re having a pleasant chat in a restaurant. She watches in silence as I select one of the huge, buttery croissants and take a bite. I’ve eaten at plenty of Michelin-starred restaurants, and the food here at the Compound stacks up well against them all. I give thanks every day for my speedy metabolism.

I tear off a chunk of the soft pastry and hold it up to her lips. She frowns, lips pressed tightly together as if I’m trying to feed her toxic waste. I run the tip of my finger over her lower lip, and she jerks her head back, shaking it from side to side.

Maybe fear has made her forget her hunger for the moment, but she definitely needs to eat. I tap her cheek. “Let’s play a game. For every bite of food you eat, you may ask one question. You must be dying to know where you are.”

And I’m dying to tell her. Both Gabriel and Jacob told me delivering the bad news to their Wards was horrible. I’m pretty sure Gabriel is still traumatized by it. But I’ve been looking forward to this for a long, long time. The moment I tell Ophelia I’ve locked her into a cage and she’s never getting out.

Her gaze skitters around the room, landing on everything except me. Maybe looking for something to latch her hopes on to. Bad luck, pet. There’s only me.

She doesn’t respond, and I shrug. “Never mind, then. You can go back to your room for a few more hours.”

“No. I need to know. ”

She snaps the words, and I raise a brow. I keep my voice calm, though my blood surges again. “Well, then. You know what to do.”

She swallows, then opens her lips. I don’t push the food in. Following a dark instinct I didn’t know I had, I hold it away from her face, forcing her to stretch out her neck to take it. A light blush colors her cheeks, and watching her do something so demeaning has my breath coming faster. The excitement trickles lower, and my cock stiffens as her soft lips brush my skin.

Christ. This wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal.

She snags the food and yanks her head back, gray eyes hard as she chews and swallows. She doesn’t rush into her question but still asks the most obvious one.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my apartment.”

She stares, waiting for more, but I just tear off another bite of the croissant and hold it up.

She shakes her head. “That’s not—”

“Fair? This is my game. I decide what the rules are.”

She locks eyes with me, and the struggle is beautiful to watch. She’s desperate to tell me to go to hell but can’t. After a long moment, she stretches her graceful neck out again and takes the food.

Fuck. I could play this game for a long time.

This time, she frames her question with a lawyer’s care. “Where is your apartment, specifically, in the world?”

“In the middle of the Feinhart Forest.” Accurate, but not informative. I hold up another bite, and this time, she takes it without fuss.

“Why have you taken me captive?”

“You’re to be my Ward.” I watch her closely for a flash of recognition but don’t see anything. Maybe dear old Dad never told her about the Brotherhood and our weird, arcane practices. She takes another bite.

“What is a Ward?”

Oh, good. The fun part. I keep my tone light and conversational, as though I’m not slamming a wrecking ball into her life. “My captive sex slave. For the rest of your life.”

It doesn’t register at first. I can see by the way her brow creases as she runs the words through her mind. Then the dawning horror I’ve been waiting for hits. She presses herself into the chair, and a clank echoes around the room as she jerks on the handcuffs.

“What?”

Can I keep my hand steady? I have to. I hold up another bite. “Was that a question?”

“You can’t…” She tugs on the cuffs again. The metal must be cutting into her skin. Her chest heaves, the gasping breaths obvious in the tight top. Then her fingers curl into fists, and her defenses snap into place, one by one. It’s fascinating to watch. Her breathing slows, her hands relax, and she looks me in the eye again.

“My father will find me. He’ll make you wish you were dead.”

I move my hand, bringing her attention back to the food. “Take another bite, and I’ll show you exactly why that isn’t going to happen.”

This time, she darts her head forward like a snapping turtle. I have to work not to jerk my hand away from her teeth. I grip the back of Ophelia's chair and yank it, spinning it to face the window. “You see the forest out there?”

“Sure. The same one I was staring at all goddamn night.”

I know fake bravado when I hear it—you can’t kid a kidder—but I don’t bother to call her out on it. “From this angle, you can see something different. See the metal, there, at the gap in the trees?”

Her eyes narrow, she leans forward as far as she can in the chair, then snaps a curt, “Yes.”

“It’s one pillar of an electrified metal fence surrounding our Compound. There are armed guards every few feet. It’s as hard to escape as San Quentin, though a lot more pleasant.”

There’s a long silence, then she mutters, “No,” but it sounds like it’s to herself. The hard set of her face never changes. She’s good. Much better than I would be if the situation was reversed.

She twists to face me. “What are you into, Sebastian? Who is in charge here? Is this a cartel thing or…”

She trails off, turning back to the forest. She’s used to having a solid grip on her life, and not understanding is driving her crazy. I press a grape to her lips, and she takes it with a sigh, chewing slowly.

“Technically, that’s three questions, so I’ll ask one of my own. Have you heard of the Onyx Brotherhood?”

Her forehead creases, and I catch the flicker of recognition. She’s heard the name before, but how much does she know? She didn’t know about Wards, that’s for sure.

“No.” It’s a lie, but a convincing one. If I hadn’t been watching closely, I wouldn’t have spotted it. I don’t blame her for keeping her cards close to her chest.

“I’ll give you the full history later, but for now, all you need to know is we’re an ancient organization and far more powerful than your family. Taking a Ward dates back almost five hundred years. I have the support of a private army to keep you here, and we’ve already implanted a tracker right here.”

I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, and she jerks at the contact. “It’s subdermal, microscopic, and can never be removed. Even if you escape, we'll find you. ”

I don’t move my hand. She has to get used to me touching her if she’s going to become my obedient little pet. And I have to get used to touching her. I’ve never placed a finger on a woman who didn’t smile at the contact and lean in for more. Ophelia is stiff, her shoulders high and tense. Part of me wants to snatch my hand away, but the other part wants to explore more of her.

She deserves this. She deserves all of it and more.

Seconds pass, and she seems to realize I’m not going to take my hand away. Finally, she asks, “Why me?”

Her eyes are wide and innocent, but it’s an act. She knows why. She fucking knows. The banked anger in my blood surges, and I almost forget to make her eat. At the last second, I grab a big chunk of blueberry muffin and shove it into her mouth. She splutters, struggling to swallow, and a nasty laugh escapes me as I watch her battle with it.

It’s undignified, and she’ll hate it. Good.

“I had to choose someone. Why would I snatch some poor, innocent woman out of her life when I could have you? You killed my sister. Maggie slit her wrists, but you were the one who forced her to it, with your little cabal of bitches. They’ve all suffered, but I wanted to save something really special for you. What could be better than this?”

I take my hand away from her neck and gesture down her body. She follows my gaze, and I wonder if she sees what I do. I’ve already turned her into a trashy little toy, and all at once, I can’t wait to show her off. If she thinks she’s miserable now, just wait. Just wait until she has dozens of sets of eyes on her. Wait until she hears the whispers.

I’m bored of this part of the game. Jacob cautioned against this, but I can’t make myself care. Why me? How dare she ask that? How fucking dare she ?

I unclip the handcuff from her right hand and spin her back to face the table. Her eyes never leave mine as she wipes the residue of the muffin from her mouth. I feel her gaze as I get to my feet and walk to the small dresser by the front door. Another fun part, coming up. I turn to face her as I open the drawer.

“Finish your breakfast.” I hold up a leather leash with a thick black collar attached. A little circular tag dangles from the front, Ophelia etched in curly script. “Then we’re going for a walk.”