Page 79

SEVENTY-NINE

AMETHYST

I’m at home alone, hogtied to the bed, waiting for Xero to return.

Dread trickles down my spine, mingled with a twisted sense of arousal. I wish I could make up my mind about him. What kind of man ties up his woman for so long? When we talked about bondage on the phone, it didn’t feel so lonely. I pictured him here in the room, giving me gentle guidance, maybe a little praise.

The man is a menace.

He kitted out my crawl space with a prison and real-life captives. Then he made me perform the interrogations. I knew he had villainous traits. I didn’t expect to see them up close. I wanted to be the object of his desire, not the Bonnie to his Clyde.

After witnessing how he tortured those men, my fear of him grew but so did this sick desire. I want to believe in the man I fell for, but he’s more complex than I expected.

I also had no idea my back was so flexible. In this position, my fingers can reach my feet. It’s easier to work on the ropes around my ankles first. There’s a series of loops I need to unravel, which takes more time than it did when Xero gave me easier restraints.

The knots are tight, with fibers digging into my skin, but I’m determined to keep trying. My fingers are losing sensation from the effort, but I twist them anyway and pick through the knots. Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes, and I curse the day I found Xero’s mugshot.

I scrolled past multiple times, but he was all over social media. That hauntingly beautiful face of the man they called the Angel of Death. I would blame the voices in my head for urging me to write that first letter, but I’d only be blaming myself.

Xero Greaves filled a void in my life, and my obsession with him might cost me everything. The worst part of this is that if given another chance, I might do it all over again. He’s frightening enough to make my hair stand on end, yet my nerves tingle and the pulse between my legs throb.

Then there’s the side of him that’s caring. That’s the man who captured my heart. Whenever that aspect of his personality emerges, I feel hope for our relationship–even longing. He’s maddening, addictive, my worst nightmare and my most fervent dream.

I’m glad he’s alive–I want him so much, yet there’s a part of me that’s terrified I might not be able to return to what we had. I want that sensual man who brought out my sexuality on the phone. The sensitive soul who captured my heart with his penmanship. Those sweet memories feel like a distant dream, overshadowed by his true darkness.

My fingers trace the coarse strands of the rope, searching for a gap, a weak spot, anything I can use to my advantage. When that doesn’t work, I roll to the side and groan.

What I need is to dial back our relationship to the time before things went to shit. Before his vengeful ghost arc, and before forces collided to make him think I was a mercenary who used him for clout.

Better still, Xero could train me to use a gun. If I had been armed the other night, I could have shot the men at the front door instead of running out through the back door in a blind panic.

The sound of creeping footsteps breaks through my gasps and struggles, making me stiffen with alarm.

“Xero?” I whisper.

Whoever’s ascending my stairs doesn’t answer.

“Did you hear that, Xero?” I say in a louder voice, pretending he’s with me in case there’s an intruder .

Xero disappeared nearly two hours ago on an errand, telling me to break out of his hogtie or else. What if one of the rapists has found their way out of the basement and is looking for revenge?

My bedroom door creaks open, and my heart leaps into my throat. I twist around, my eyes widening.

It’s a dark-haired man with dull brown eyes, angular features, and a sharp grin. He wears a black suit with a black shirt unbuttoned to his breastbone, showcasing a bronze chest covered in black tattoos.

My heart slams against my chest, making my pulse skyrocket. Despite his obvious attractiveness, everything about him is off. He looks familiar, like someone whose face should grace the background of a real crime podcast or the FBI Most Wanted.

“Looking for this?” he asks, holding up a knife.

His voice is so achingly beloved that I’d recognize it in my dreams.

My breath shallows, and relief makes my muscles melt into the mattress. I blink the spots out of my eyes. “Xero?”

He leans against the doorframe, accentuating the lines of his incredible physique. Tall and muscular, with bulges in all the right places. It’s enough to make a woman groan.

“Like the disguise?” he asks.

I shift uncomfortably on the mattress. Seeing him like this is unsettling. It’s a harsh reminder of how much he’s changed from the man who haunts my dreams.

Shaking my head, I say, “No. Take it off.”

His gaze softens, and his lips curve with a smile. “How far do you want me to go?”

My breath shallows, and the muscles of my pussy spasms. The danger he exudes is intoxicating. I’m drawn to it, even though my common sense screams red alert. My instincts want me to run, but I’m addicted to the thrill.

“All of it,” I say, my voice breathy. “Better still, untie these ropes.”

“You’re quite demanding for someone in your position,” he says, his eyes sharpening. “Especially considering I ordered you to break free of your restraints.”

I grit my teeth and shoot him my most venomous glare. Was someone else writing those beautiful letters? The Xero I fell in love with was gentle, patient, and keen to ease me into the world of BDSM. The asshole standing in front of me is a sexual tyrant.

“If you taught me how to break out of a hogtie, maybe I’d have made some progress,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Can you feel your hands and feet?”

“No, and I probably have gangrene.”

His smirk widens into a grin. “You’re cute when you’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not,” I reply, my voice shrill. “These ropes are cutting into my skin. What if I get bedsores?”

He tosses over the knife, sending a rush of adrenaline that sets my nerves alight. I roll to the side with a shriek. The knife bounces dangerously close to my face before settling within reach.

“Hey, you could have taken out my eye!” I yell, shooting him my most venomous glare.

“Cut yourself free.”

“How?”

His brows rise. “Do I need to trigger your fight-or-flight to get you motivated? Say the word. I’m more than willing to oblige.”

My muscles stiffen. Fear and arousal battle in my core for dominance, leaving me aching. I know he’s testing my limits, pushing me to see how far I’ll go. This overwhelming presence is a confusing cocktail, making it impossible to think straight.

“Asshole.” The word tumbles from my lips.

The smile fades from his handsome features, which morph from playful to sinister. My breath hitches as he reaches into his pocket, triggering my prey instincts. What will he do next? When he extracts a gun, adrenaline kicks me in the gut, and I flinch within my restraints.

Moments pass in silence, filled by the frantic thrashing of my pulse. It beats so hard and fast that my clit throbs. Sweat breaks out across my brow as I consider my options. Should I get moving? Should I speak?

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice rising.

“Giving you a sense of urgency.”

When a jar of Vaseline appears in his hand, a shiver zips down my spine and settles between my legs. I’ve read enough smutty books to know what happens next. Rolling toward the knife, I fumble for its handle.

“Good girl.” He stalks toward the bed, the tent in his pants expanding.

Xero is aroused by my terror, but only if he’s the one making me scared. He’s like an emotional vampire that feeds off my panic. The worst part is that our early morning conversations have trained my body to get excited by danger.

I got off on the thought of a caged beast who craved my degradation. But I was safe in this bedroom, listening to his dirty and depraved words while fucking myself with his dildo.

Now, the thought of him lubricating a gun with Vaseline to stick it somewhere obscene heats my blood. My pussy clenches and throbs, even though every shred of my fraying common sense tells me I should be horrified. I rock from side to side, not knowing if I’m trying to escape or creating desperately needed friction.

Why is he watching me from so far away? He needs to come closer.

“I see lots of pretty jiggling but no cutting,” he growls, sending a shiver of unwanted pleasure down my spine.

He closes the distance, advancing on me with menacing strides. My heart leaps to the back of my throat. “Wait!”

I close my fingers around the knife and turn it in my bound hands. When the sawing motion I make behind my back does nothing to the ropes, I realize it’s upside-down.

“You have a count from ten to free yourself, or this gun gets your anal virginity,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against my cheek, igniting a flare of heat in my core.

Sparks ignite across my skin. My asshole clenches. “Is it loaded?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” he mutters, his breath warm against my ear, making my skin tingle.

Cold panic explodes through my chest, turning my veins into ice. With a strangled scream, I force my fingers to flip the knife, turning its blade toward the ropes.

My backyard lights system streams in through the window, glinting on Xero’s gun. Ignoring the impending threat, I slice into the stubborn rope.

“Ten,” he says, his artificially darkened eyes tracking my every move, his touch lingering on my arm, infusing me with a rush of heat.

My heart skips a beat. I make a sawing motion between my ankles, feeling the ropes give. I would stick that knife into his hand, but that would ruin the game. It would also incite his anger. I don’t want Angry Xero, even if he makes me wet.

“Nine.”

“I’m trying,” I scream and quicken my pace, his fingers trailing down my back, making my skin burn with desire.

The bastard rocks forward, his thick erection pressing into the fabric of his pants. For a moment, I’m mesmerized by the outline of his Jacob’s Ladder piercings until I realize they’re just a distraction.

“Eight.”

The rope between my ankles gives way, and my legs flop to the mattress. Circulation returns to my feet with a burst of pins and needles, accompanied by a sharp pain. There’s no time to check if I’ve cut through my skin. My arms are tied behind my back, and the bindings around my wrists will be a bitch.

“Seven.”

“Fuck!”

I roll to the edge of the mattress, swing my legs to the floor, and sit up. The knife remains between my fingers, but the angle of the ropes is impossible. I waste precious seconds fumbling about until the blade finally digs into the rope.

“Six,” Xero says, his hand resting on my thigh, shocking me with a jolt of arousal.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit!

Bending over double, I saw at the ropes, ignoring the burn of my forearm. It’s like every muscle attached to those bones has colluded to give me tennis elbow, tendonitis, and carpal tunnel.

But I keep going to preserve the sanctity of my asshole.

“Five. ”

Adrenaline surges through every blood vessel, making my skin tingle. My focus is so amplified that the entire world disappears. It’s just me, the knife, the rope, and the overarching threat of Xero Greaves.

Blood roars between my ears, muffling his accursed countdown. Sweat drenches my brow, trickling down on my thighs, and my entire upper body screams for mercy. I remain bent over, forcing my hands to continue cutting.

He says something, his hand stroking my hair, sending a rush of conflicting sensations through my tingling scalp, but I’m too far gone to decipher even the simplest of words. Each agonizing motion inches me closer to freedom. The rope frays, giving way under the blade.

So.

Fucking.

Close.

The bindings around my wrists releases, letting my arms flop down from their forced position.

“One,” he says.

“Fuck,” I scream.

“Good effort,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear, making my exhausted body shiver with arousal.

He pats my head like I’m a pet, but I’m too relieved to bristle. Exhaustion seeps into my bones, making me feel like a broken doll that’s been mauled by a rabid dog.

Just as I’m about to dissolve into a puddle of relief, he threads his fingers through my hair and raises my head with a jerk, making my scalp burn.

“What?” I snap.

Those featureless brown eyes stare down at me, unblinking. Lips twitching, he says, “You still have ropes around your wrists and ankles.”

“Meaning what?”

“Technically, you’re still restrained.”

My jaw drops. “No. My arms are free. So are my legs. If I wanted to, I could run.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But that wasn’t the point,” I say, my voice rising.

Xero releases my hair, letting my head flop down toward my lap. “If the men who broke into your house tied you up and tossed you in the back of their vehicle, would you stay in place after cutting yourself free?”

“Of course not, but?—”

“No buts, little ghost. You failed to run in the face of a threat, which only makes me conclude that you want to take my gun like a good girl.”

“I don’t want it,” I blurt.

“I see.”

My head snaps up. “What does that mean?”

“If you want my cock instead, you only need to ask,” he says with what he thinks is a kind smile. “It’s all yours.”

“I…” My throat dries, and my gaze drops down to the erection pushing through his pants. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I swallow hard. “Are you going to give me anal?”

“Do you want it?” he asks, his voice lowering several octaves.

He knows I want it. I used to beg him for another dildo, because I wanted to try double penetration, since Xero banned me from sticking anything else in my pussy except tampons.

“Tongue-tied, little ghost?” he asks, his voice light with amusement.

I glance up at him, not knowing if this is a trick. “I thought I was being punished?”

He runs his fingers down the side of my cheek. “It will be if I don’t allow you to come.”

“Wait.” I rise off the bed on shaky legs. “How is that even fair? Where’s my incentive for playing your games if you keep tricking me with technicalities?”

“You think this is a game?” His fingers slide down my neck.

My throat tightens, and my prey instincts scream at me to flee. “It is when you keep turning me on then get an erection from watching me struggle and panic.”

He grabs my throat and eases me back on the bed. “You forget the purpose of this training. Tonight, I walked into an elegant house occupied by people associated with X-Cite Media. Two of my men are scouting the studio where they record those movies, and they say it’s staffed with at least twelve guards. ”

“How does letting you fuck me in the ass with a gun change that?”

His gaze drops to my lips. “My methods are brutal to reflect the severity of the threat. While I’m figuring out that firm’s weaknesses and how to take down that leader, I also need to use any method necessary to prepare you for what’s coming.”

Prepare me for what’s coming or get pleasure from making me squirm? I don’t voice that because he’s unpredictable.

“Then why don’t we just run away?” I ask.

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Have you seen the videos on that site?”

I lower my lashes. “Not really. Everything’s behind a paywall, and I thought it was just violent-looking porn.”

“It’s real, at least the short-term rentals. X-Cite Media is a front for something much bigger and more dangerous than you can imagine, and I need to prepare you for anything.”

“We can leave town. You can help me change my name?—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re safe here at 13 Parisii Drive. I have people stationed by all entrances. All you have to do is follow my lead.”

In other words, I’m bait. Xero needs me here to lure more of those men so he can find their leader. Bowing my head, I clench my jaw.

Xero and his minions can do what they like, but I didn’t sign up to become a pawn in a game of deadly pornographers. I also don’t want to become a killer.

What happened to all those promises he made to love and protect me to the end of my days? I pictured life with Xero Greaves to be filled with fine food, overseas travel, and sexy adventures. Why does he need me as bait anyway? He has a whole army of trained assassins.

The discrepancy between his words and actions tears at my heart.

If I don’t speak up for myself now, I’ll be embroiled in a world of murder, mayhem, and madness.