Page 14 of Run, Little Rabbit (Blood & Bonds #1)

Chapter Thirteen

Echo

M y arms ache where that blonde asshole hung my wrists from some glorified meat hook.

My feet barely touch the ground, and the pins and needles are starting to become a real pain in my ass.

My shoes have gone, and I swear to God, if they’re ruined, someone is going to lose a fucking hand.

They’re my favourite pair of stilettos, and I actually think I’ll cry if they’ve been ruined.

I know it’s silly, but they’re just so beautiful.

And comfy. It’s so hard to find a comfy pair of high heels, and these just feel like wearing a pair of slippers.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone out, shouldn’t have left my pretty little gilded cage, but I needed to keep my society princess mask in place.

It’s taken me years to perfect, and I wasn’t going to put it at risk for a little trip into enemy territory.

Echo Nolan has always been my alibi; without her, I risk losing the Six Minute Killer, and I’d dread to think what would happen to me if I lost that.

I think about it sometimes, giving up the killing, and wonder whether I’d survive without it. Or whether it would drive me truly insane. Hopefully I’ll never have to find out. The world is full of people that deserve to die, and I’m going to get rid of them, one by one.

All my life I’ve been hidden away, like some dirty little secret, and I’m sick of it. Maybe I should just come clean over the whole Six Minute Killer thing. I scoff. Dad probably still wouldn’t believe me, even if I killed someone in front of him. He’s such a stubborn asshole.

I’d rather keep my serial killer side gig a secret than risk losing it because my ego couldn’t take Daddy’s chauvinistic tendencies anymore. I dread to think what would happen to me without that outlet.

It’s like an urge. An impulse. A sheer fucking need to cause damage and drama. Like breaking that guy’s nose. I really should have thought about that before swinging. I certainly wouldn’t be hung from a meat hook if I had.

But what can you do? Hindsight really is a merciless bitch.

The groan of a metal door sounds behind me, and footsteps reverberate off the concrete floor. I can’t see much, thanks to the single shaft of light I’m suspended in. Beyond that are shadows and loose shapes that I’d really rather not have clarity over.

The expensive-sounding shoes stop directly behind me, and I can feel him at my back. I take a deep breath through my nose since the tape still covers my mouth and count to ten. Not that it does anything to calm my heart down. The thing is going like the clappers.

“I should be pissed you broke my nose.”

His voice is just as smoky as I remember. A deep rumble that has my core clenching. I should be terrified, but there must be something wrong with me because I’m the complete opposite.

“But no one has ever broken my nose before.” He steps around me, walking until he faces me but stays just beyond the light. “It’s actually kind of amusing.”

Well, whoop-de-fucking-do. Aren’t I the lucky one? Let me go and shout it from the rooftops. Oh. Wait. I can’t do that because someone’s got me gagged and hung from the fucking ceiling!

“Stare daggers at me all you want, princess. You’re staying there until I decide what to do with you.”

He takes a step towards me, and I get an eyeful of my handiwork. Black circles sit beneath his eyes, and a little white steri-strip sits on the bridge of his nose.

My dad would be proud of me.

The guy’s still as handsome as fuck, maybe even more so now he’s a little damaged. He’s lost the mask from earlier, and a bolt of recognition flies through me. I’d know that face anywhere, even with the bruising.

Maxim Volkov. In the flesh.

He’s in a fresh white shirt, sleeves rolled up, revealing drool-worthy forearms. Dark lines and shapes cover his skin, and I’m curious to know what tattoos he’s got. If his forearms are covered, I bet he’s got more ink hidden beneath that expensive white cotton.

His face is sharp, with angled cheekbones and a square jaw, but he exudes a sense of humour that wasn't there when we first met. Which makes him more attractive. Fucking bastard.

I wonder what he’s like in bed.

Feral, probably, judging by the wicked gleam in his eye.

I’d bet he’d pound me into the mattress and leave my body broken and ruined for all other men.

My core clenches at the thought, and my face must give it away because he steps even closer. So close, I can almost feel his chest against my rapidly hardening nipples.

He reaches his hand out and brushes a lock of my hair away from my face. “You don’t look like your father. It’s why I didn’t recognise you.”

His finger traces the curve of my ear and trails down my neck, stopping over my pulse point.

A hum, which sounds more like a moan, flitters through the room.

“Your heart is racing, princess.”

Yeah, I fucking know.

“Are you scared?” he asks, an excited thrum vibrating through his words. He leans closer, his mouth inches from the tape across mine, and he drops his voice to a dark whisper. “Or are you so turned on you’d let me finger-fuck your wet cunt right now?”

I can’t help it. The moan escapes before I can will it back down to the hidden depths from where it came.

He brushes his nose along my cheekbone, and I try to pull away, but there’s not really anywhere you can go when you’re hanging from a hook.

“Ah, ah,” he says as he wraps his large hand around my throat, holding me in place. “There’s no escape for you.”

I lift my knee, aiming for his dick, but he blocks it easily. I try again and again, but it’s fucking useless, and he just stands there, laughing at me. Tears of helplessness form at the corners of my eyes, and I hate myself for it. I will not shed tears for this man.

He brushes one of my tears away with his thumb. “So pretty when you cry.” He sucks his thumb into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he swallows my tears.

Holy fuck. Why is that so hot? Why do I find that so hot?

He releases his thumb with a pop and smiles wide, reaching for the tape across my mouth.

Wait a minute.

No. Don’t you fucking—

He grips the edge of the tape and rips it off.

“Jesus fucking dickbag!” I seethe. That hurt .

He pats the side of my face carelessly. “Such crassness from such a beautiful mouth.”

“Fuck you!”

He chuckles, a deep rasp that I feel all the way to my toes. “I’m not into that.”

I lick my lips and wince at the sting. A tang of blood hits my tongue, and I know he’s ripped some skin off with the tape.

He disappears for a moment and then comes back with a bottle of water. He opens it and lifts it to my lips.

I pull back. “How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”

“And why would I kill you, Echo?”

My name in his mouth sounds sinful, and a shiver leaves goosebumps along my skin.

“For fun?”

He laughs. Full-blown, deep belly laughs. “Oh, Echo. Killing you wouldn’t be fun. It would be pointless.” His hand grips my chin. “Playing with you, on the other hand…”

He sweeps his thumb across my bottom lip, wiping away the blood. Then he sucks that ignominious digit into his mouth, and I swear his eyes brighten. Jesus, this guy is something else.

And I fucking like it.

He takes a drink from the bottle and swallows. “See. Harmless.”

“That’s the last word I’d use to describe anything about you.”

He grins, and it’s unsettling. Like a lion playing with its food. He takes another drink and walks closer.

“What are you doing?” I ask, the panic raising my heart rate again.

Without saying anything, he presses his fingers into the hollows of my cheeks, forcing my mouth to open wide. I fight against my restraints, but he towers over me, leaning closer until his mouth hovers over mine. Then he parts his lips, letting the water trickle into my mouth.

I instinctively swallow, grateful for the relief. The cool liquid soothes my dry mouth, and I lick my lips, trying to moisten them, but there isn’t enough water left.

The guy cocks an eyebrow like he knows exactly what I’m needing. “More?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Please,” I say through gritted teeth, and Jesus fuck, I want to break his nose all over again.

“Good girl,” he coos, making something inside of me preen from the praise.

I expect him to pour the drink directly into my mouth, but he repeats the same process as before.

Taking a mouthful and then letting it flow from his mouth to mine.

I swear his lips get closer every time he does it, until he’s merely a hair's breadth away from kissing me, and God, I want it. Which is insane . The guy fucking kidnapped me, and I’m chained to the ceiling.

In no way should I want this guy, but my pussy is dripping.

He’s so close I can feel his body heat and smell his cologne.

I want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and slide my tongue over his skin just to see what he tastes like.

The click of a switchblade opening breaks my wandering mind, and a flash of light catches on the wicked-looking knife.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my eyes fixed on the blade.

“Having fun.” He places the tip of the blade against the hollow of my throat and drags the blade slowly over me.

It’s cool against my heated skin as it trails towards the strap of my dress.

He hooks the edge of the blade under my strap, dragging it up and down the thin piece of material. Teasing it.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

But he just smiles as he pulls the blade through the material.

“You asshole!” I scream. “Do you know how difficult it was to get my hands on this dress?”

“I don’t give a shit, princess.” He slices through the other strap, and the heavy, jewel-encrusted material slinks to the ground, pooling at my feet.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, and I’d be flattered if I wasn’t seething at my ruined dress.

“Pick it up off the floor, or so help me God, I’ll—”

“What?” He interrupts. “What are you going to do, Echo? Run and tell Daddy? Get all his big, bad men to come and teach me a lesson?” His eyes darken as he brings his hand up to wrap around my throat again.

But it’s not threatening. It’s more like he’s just resting it there.

“Well, I’ve got fucking news for you, princess, you’re in my house now, and your daddy’s throne is nothing compared to mine. ”

Wow, this guy has an ego. “Do you know how difficult it was to get my hands on that dress? It’s a one of a kind, asshole.”

His fingers squeeze my throat tighter, those calloused fingers rubbing against my sensitive skin. “I don’t give a shit. And nobody talks to me like that.”

“Why?” I snap. “Because you’re the great and powerful Maxim Volkov? Well, I’ve got news for you, honey. I’ve grown up around men like you, men that make you look like nothing more than a wannabe. So let me down from the fucking hook and treat me with the respect I deserve.”

He laughs languidly, which just irritates me even more. It’s a sound that scrapes against the inside of my skull like a knife.

Entitled prick.

Maxim digs the side of his thumb into my split lip, and I wince at the sharp sting. Blood pools beneath his thumb, and he smears it across my lips. His eyes brighten; it’s quite unsettling how wild it makes him look. Like he’s on the cusp of madness and just needs a little push.

Now that’s a tempting urge. I know how dangerous he is, how volatile and unpredictable.

I’ve heard the stories, and as I watch his face mere inches from mine, I can almost see the brutality lurking in the depths of his storm-coloured eyes.

Calm on the surface but chaos lurking in their depths.

I wonder what he looks like when he’s lost control completely.

“So you know who I am? That’s good. Means we don’t have to bother with trivial things like introductions and expectations.”

“Lucky me,” I drawl.

“Yes,” he replies firmly. “You are lucky. You’re lucky you’re a Quinn. You’re lucky you’ve got my interest. Without those, you’d be decomposing on the bottom of the ocean.”

“Whoop-de-fucking-doo.”

His fingers dig deeper into the side of my neck, squeezing just enough to make breathing uncomfortable. He clicks his tongue as a sadistic grin curls his mouth. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into a lot of trouble.”

I smile just as sadistically back. “I’m counting on it.”