Page 6 of The Hunter

I stole a glance in the mirror over the bar. “You said it’s your favorite.”

He tilted his head. “Is that why you keep checking the mirror like a desperate whore? Trying to impress someone?”

“Just you,” I replied, doing everything in my power to keep the fear out of my voice.

He didn’t respond. Just stared. The silence stretched so taut it made my ears ring. Then he started walking toward me, each step deliberate.

“Tell me, Ariana. When you were getting ready, who did you think about when you slipped on this dress?” He tugged me against him, and I had to swallow down the bile rising in my throat at the feel of his erection. “When you slid this thong up your thighs?” He squeezed my ass, his grip painful, my backside still sore from what he made me endure earlier in the week.

But I couldn’t let him see that. It would only anger him more. Would only encourage him more.

“Only you,” I whispered, willing the tremble in my body to stay hidden.

“I’m not sure I believe you.” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into bruised flesh. The pain made my knees buckle, and I let out a small whimper before I could stop it.

“I promise, my love.” I inched my lips toward his. “There’s only you.”

He studied me for what felt like an eternity, his eyes tracing over my face for any hint of deception. My heart thudded in my chest, and I fought to keep my expression calm, despite the agony ripping through me.

Finally, he released me, the force causing me to stumble on my heels. Victor shot his hand out, a firm grip on my arm preventing me from falling.

But he wasn’t trying to help me. He had ulterior motives. He always did.

A sinister smirk curved on his lips as he leaned toward me. “Then prove it.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I knew.

Like the obedient wife he trained me to be, I sunk to my knees, careful not to wrinkle the dress.

He reached for me, cupping my cheek like a tender lover might. Then he shifted his hold, his grip tightening around the diamond necklace, his way of controlling me as he would some disobedient pet.

“Show me who you belong to.” Then he unzipped his pants.

I briefly closed my eyes. Imagined slipping the stiletto from my foot and driving the heel into his dick.

I pictured the blood spurting across the marble tile. The excruciating pain in his scream. The way the life would drain from his eyes while I watched, calm and still.

But then I thought of my mom. Of what he’d threatened to do if I ever stepped out of line.

So I opened my eyes.

And my mouth.

And I gave him what he wanted.

All the while, I was secretly dying inside.

Chapter Four

Henry

Gold light glinted off chandeliers suspended from vaulted ceilings, casting a glow over marble floors polished to a mirror’s sheen. Soft strains of classical music drifted through the air, muffled by the murmur of cultured voices and the occasional clink of crystal glasses filled with champagne.

Everyone here wore their power like bespoke armor, tailored and adorned, pretending not to notice how ruthlessly they all measured one another. Behind every laugh was leverage. Behind every compliment, a power play.

Victor Kane stood at the center of it all like a crowned monarch. Confident. Calculated. Smiling just wide enough to suggest interest.

Ariana was the queen at his side. The gown she wore was pure decadence — deep red satin that slid over her body as if it was made for her alone. Her hair was an intricate sculpture of glossy waves twisted into a chignon, held in place by glittering pins that probably cost more than my first car. Every inch of her screamed perfection. Restraint. A woman bred to be admired.