Page 9 of The King of Hearts (The Raven Group #1)

He doesn’t answer right away. He takes a long step forward, and it shortens the space between us, making my heart rate skyrocket.

I move back more, but I only get so far before my back hits the edge of my desk.

He moves again, and there’s only a handful of feet between us now.

This close, I can see his face better. Or rather, what’s covering his face.

It’s a solid black mask with deep grooves slashed from the top corner and goes diagonally down to the opposite corner.

“It means,” he says, eating up the little bit of space left between us with another step, “I want everything. Every single fucking inch of you. Everything about you belongs to me. Every first, middle, and last experience you have will be mine to give you.”

What. The. Fuck.

The surety in his voice, the way he doesn’t even hesitate with his claim, says he truly believes the shit coming out of his mouth. He actually thinks I belong to him.

And that right there tells me just how dangerous this man can be.

I’ve already been through something similar with another deranged man, and it nearly cost me my life.

When he’s only a couple feet from me, my muscles tense, preparing to run.

To get the fuck away from this man. My eyes dart around to anything in the room I can use as a weapon.

There’s plenty of stuff, but it’s all too far away to get to before he gets to me.

The desk I’m pressed against only has a couple of notebooks, but there’s a charcoal pencil I can use.

Blindly, I slowly move my hand behind me.

I know exactly where the pencil is, and sure enough, I feel the tip of it graze my hand. I curl my fingers around it.

My whole body shakes, and my heart slams inside my chest as I stare at the man. I can’t see his eyes, but I know he’s staring right back.

Before my mind can fully form the thought, I’m sprinting across the room toward the door.

I get only a couple of feet before I’m suddenly grabbed from behind.

I open my mouth to release a scream, but it never makes it past my lips.

An unrelenting band is around my throat, and it’s so firm I can hardly pull in air, let alone make any sounds. I’m pulled back against a hard chest.

I lift the hand holding the charcoal pencil with every intention of stabbing it anywhere I can, but my wrist is caught. He squeezes the bones so hard that I’m forced to let my measly weapon go.

With an arm around my waist, I’m picked up so my feet dangle, and he carries me to the bed. I’m tossed on the end, my bottom half hanging over the edge, and a heavy weight lands on top of me.

A really large, very hard, heavy weight.

I squirm and buck, trying to get away, but there’s no chance of that happening. He’s simply too big and too strong.

His hand is now on the back of my neck, pushing my face into the mattress. His legs straddle mine and his groin presses against my ass. Something hard pokes me, and it doesn’t take a genius to know what it is.

Oh, Jesus. Oh, fuck.

Panic and terror stop my bucking and lock every muscle in my body.

I open my mouth, whether to scream or simply pant in air, I don’t know, but as soon as my lips part, something is shoved into it.

Two of his fingers drive past my tongue and hit the back of my throat, making me gag.

Saliva pools out and drips onto the mattress.

“Try that again and you won’t like the consequences, Savina,” he growls in my ear. “I’m going to let you go. If you scream, the promise of sewing your lips shut is still on the table. Bite down if you understand.”

I don’t bite him at first. Not because I don’t understand, but because I’m terrified to do it. Even if he did give me permission.

“Savina,” he barks.

I sink my teeth into his fingers. I meant to do it lightly, only a graze of my teeth to give him what he wants, but they dig into his flesh harshly. He groans, his hot breath sliding across the back of my neck, and oh, fuck, I feel that hard pole against my ass jerk.

“You’ll learn quickly, my vicious little angel, that I like pain,” he says in a dark voice. “It makes my cock hard.”

He pushes his dick against me, as if to prove that point, and jams his fingers so deep down my throat that I cough and sputter.

And then his weight is gone, so fast it’s like it was never there. It takes me a moment to realize this fact. I blink several times like an idiot before I scramble up to my feet, spinning around to face him.

He’s there, a couple of feet away, standing so tall I’m forced to tilt my head back to look at him. I cross my arms over my chest, belatedly remembering I’m only in my camisole and a pair of thongs. I feel exposed and vulnerable, and I hate it.

I have no idea what this man’s plans are for me, and I don’t like standing here with so much of my flesh on display. I feel like I’m presenting him with temptation, and from the very noticeable bulge I felt a moment ago, he’s definitely already tempted.

“Good girl,” he says in a smooth tone, like he’s proud of my acquiescence.

I want to move away from him, but I don’t want to set him off. There’s no telling what he’ll do.

“Whose heart is that?” I ask, my voice shaky.

The answer really doesn’t matter. I just want him to talk instead of simply standing there looking at me. The longer he does that, the more nervous I become, and I need to get those emotions under control to figure out a way to get out of here.

“Patrick Arlington,” the devil in front of me answers.

The name surprises me. I didn’t expect to actually know the person, although maybe that’s na?ve on my part. The heart was presented to me as if it were a gift. Gifts are meant to be personal. This man claims I’m his, so of course I’d know the owner.

“Why did you kill him?” I’m still scared, but a note of curiosity slithers in beside the fear.

“He signed his death warrant the moment he touched you and spoke to you the way he did.”

I suspected as much. Which means he was there at The Bean Shop earlier today. Something tells me he’s the presence I felt watching me. Is he the one I’ve felt for two years?

“No one touches what’s mine, Savina. No one threatens what’s mine,” he continues.

My breath gets stuck in my throat when he moves forward.

He’s so close that I feel the warmth of his body, and an oceanic scent hits my senses.

“And it goes both ways. You don’t put your hands on another man.

Learn that. Live it. Sear it into your fucking soul.

Because if you break that rule, you’ll end up with more blood on your hands than you can wash off. ”

Jesus.

Maybe this person really is the devil. A psycho devil disguised as a man.