Page 8 of The Vigilante's Lover

I am in hell.

I am in the hell I deserve for lying to this man. For writing him. For leading him on.

I wish I had never seen the letters. Never thought about them.

Never written back.

I can’t watch him cut up my gown. It’s too frightening, so I squeeze my eyes shut. I know he’s looking at me. The air is hitting my thighs and belly. I’m typically shy. No one has ever seen this much of me.

His slipknots on my wrists are perfectly tied, so that the more I move, the tighter they get.

I don’t recognize the pattern across my body, however.

These aren’t sailing knots. They are something else, meant for other purposes.

I don’t have to see them to remember how they look.

The blood-red ropes crisscrossing my breasts and ribs aren’t something I’ll easily forget. The image is branded on my brain.

I won’t open my eyes. I don’t want to see my shredded nightgown. He used my own words against me, slicing the gown apart like we were lovers on a dare.

Goosebumps spread across my skin from the chill. I’m embarrassed as much as scared. The bed shifts as he moves. I assume he will take me now, do what he wants to me. He’ll assume my real virginity is — what did he call it? Hymen restructuring?

Where does this man come from?

I don’t know if he will kill me. He seems so well dressed for a murderer, so gentlemanly in how he talks, even when he’s accusing me of lying. Jax De Luca. Who is he? How did he get out of jail?

He assumed my aunt had been murdered. This must be his life.

Moments pass, and still, nothing. My thighs grow weary of clenching together. Is he not going to do anything?

Now I’m not sure what I feel. Disappointment? Surely not. But something eases. The terror drops a notch.

Carefully, slowly, I open one eye.

Jax is watching me with amusement. “That’s all you’ve got?” he says. “Clenching in fear? Surely you’ve finished at least Phase One training if you’re in a safe house.”

I don’t know what he means. My thigh muscle cramps, and I’m forced to let my loose leg down. The other one is still tied to the bedpost.

“I mean, that was a very convincing scream,” he goes on. “But I had expected something more…titillating.”

Anger blossoms in me. What the hell does he want from me? Some grand seduction?

“I’m not exactly in a position to manhandle you.” I wiggle my fingers in the bonds.

He laughs again, less forcefully this time. It’s actually sort of…charming.

“So you write about bondage but you can’t escape it?”

I finally get the courage to glance down at my body. My thighs peek through a tangle of white strips. My panties are in full view. The nightgown is more fitting of a prostitute now. My face flames with embarrassment. I cross one leg over the other again. I don’t care how much they cramp.

“You were right about the gown,” Jax says. “Can’t spread very wide in that awkward thing.” The one-line letter lies between us like an accusation. “I fixed it for you.”

His gaze travels the length of my body, pausing on my breasts, which are fat and round inside the crisscross of the rope binding.

Thankfully the white gown is thick and hides how my nipples pucker up as he looks at me.

A rush of heat blasts through my body. Despite what is happening, I feel a tingle, like parts of me are waking up for the first time.

Something beeps in the corner of the room. We both turn.

Jax walks over to the lampshade on my dresser and pulls a small oval-shaped device from inside.

“What is that?” I ask.

He stares at it. “Well, this safe house is compromised,” he says darkly. “Good thing I already pilfered the stockpile.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You deny it to the end.” He shakes his head as he reaches for the slipknot at my wrist and expertly unwinds it from the bedpost. My arm drops to the bed. I can’t even move it, so little blood is flowing.

“Are you letting me go?” I ask as he reaches across me for the other arm. He smells expensive, like fine clothes and luxury cars. I stifle the urge to inhale deeply.

“Oh, no. You’re coming with me.” He unties my ankle.

As soon as my leg is free, I snap my knees together. He tilts his head. “A little late for modesty,” he says.

I kick at the sheets and pile them around me, creating a shield.

Jax laughs. “If I know your type, we’re going to be carnally acquainted very soon.” He leans over and holds my chin tight in his grip. “I am happy to take advantage of whatever skills you want to test on me, but don’t think your wiles are going to get you anywhere.”

His face moves in super close, just inches from mine. I can’t breathe, his lips are so near. If I leaned forward, I could kiss him, feel the stubble of his cheek. I want to. I don’t care what he’s done, breaking into my house, tying me up. I want that kiss.

I’m losing my mind. He’s a stranger. A convicted felon. I can’t want this. I can’t want him.

He pulls away and jerks at the ties still encircling my wrists.

He tugs my hands behind my back, locking them down with the binding on my waist. The rope makes a sizzling sound as he pulls it through, and I shiver.

I should not be feeling so attracted to this man.

I try to summon my fear and anger, but I’m still on fire from his closeness, and how what he’s doing matches his letters.

“Can you stand?” he asks.

I scoot to the edge of the bed and manage to get on my feet. The tattered gown falls around my legs.

“Almost perfect,” Jax says. He reaches for the collar of my gown. “But let’s not forget exactly who and what you are.” He rips the lace neckline, pulling it wide until the cleavage created by the ropes threatens to spill out.

“That’s more like the vixen I expect,” he says.

I can’t be insulted. He’s right. I wrote him those sexy things. I told him this is what I wanted. He’s only doing what I asked him to. I had begged to be tied up, treated like a whore. And taken roughly, passionately, until I screamed.

Good God. Was that next?

For a moment his fingers slide along my collarbone, then down to the hollow between my breasts. I can barely breathe, suspended between terror and wild attraction. He could have done anything to me, yet he hasn’t. I don’t know what to think of him. Gentleman or rogue? Killer or hero?

The beeps from his device come faster.

“Time to fly,” he says. He slides the end of the rope through the binding in front and leads me out of my bedroom like I’m a slave. I don’t even have a chance to look back. Whatever future I imagined when I went to bed last night is long gone.

For now, at least, it seems I belong to Jax.