Page 143 of Malicious Claim

"It happened in Greece," Estela finally admitted. "That's all I know,lo juro!"

The news wasn't exactly helpful to Leila, but a strange jolt of sympathy crept into her chest. If only for a moment. Then she swallowed it.

Leila huffed and groaned, "I guess that's why he's like that."

Estela didn't argue, rather she found a way to cleverly change the topic. "Do you love him, Mrs. Leila?"

Leila stiffened, leaving the question hanging there, between them. Her lips parted, but no answer could come out.

A minute went by before Estela stood up saying, "I should go."

Leila let her leave without attempting to stop her, sitting stiff in position as Estela walked out of the room.

Leila eventually got dressed, using the clean clothes left for her.

She strode across the room, to the door and knocked. The door opened to reveal Nicolai in the hallway. His expression was stoic.

"Where's Makros?" she asked.

"I don't know."

She frowned. "Well, can you tell me what's happening?"

"No."

Leila regarded him. His demeanor was icy, and he did not appear interested in her foolish questions. She thought about pushing him harder, but something cautioned that he would not like to hear much else from her.

So she nodded, moving back one step into the room. And the moment she closed the door, she heard the lock click. She stood there, paralyzed by the door, fingers curled around the handle before she released it with a deep breath.

"Fuck!"

Her gaze flicked back to the room, the gentle glow of the bedroom lights casting shadows over the glinting tools and restraints. They were motionless, waiting, like secrets only Makros knew how to unlock.

Her feet led her forward before she had decided to go.

She reached for the flogger first, the handle firm in her hand. The leather lashes unfolded, yielding but treacherously so. She ran the strands along the palm of her hand, then down her thigh, testing the feel. The sting of the earlier whipping still ghosted across her skin.

She raised her arm and swung the flogger onto the bed. The impact made a dull thud. She did it again, but harder. The hard and loud crack sent a little zing up her spine.

How hard did Makros swing it when he employed it?

Leila's tongue moistened her lower lip as she walked across the room to the leather restraints hanging from the bedposts. They were so simple. Just a piece of leather and not even metal.

She sat on the bed, gripping one in her hand, pulling on it, turning the buckle, pushing the limits. If she was restrained again, could she escape? She inserted her wrist into the restraint, closing it just tightly enough to feel the sting of restriction. She turned her wrist, pulled with all her might but nothing happened.

"It's so sturdy. But if only I had something to use. Something sharp."

Her gaze flicked to the nightstand, where a letter opener sat still. It was not the ideal tool she had in mind, but maybe at the right time, it could be just what was needed.

Then she picked up the choker. A delicate one compared to all the rest—soft, black leather, a silver ring hanging at the center. She turned to the mirror, buckling it around her neck.

The woman who stared back was not recognizable.

Not because of the bruises, or the dark circles under her eyes, but because she looked... willing.

Leila swallowed and rolled her head to the side, watching how the ring at the front caught the chandelier light. Makros had not yet used it on her, but she imagined him holding it, fingers hooked through the ring, so that she would have to look up at him.

She shivered and removed it.