Page 113 of Unforgiving Queen

My pulse trembled when I saw myself in the shot, wrists secured to the headboard while a soft moan filled the air. There I lay, naked on Amon’s bed, grinding on his hand. I stared at the screen playing in front of my eyes, revulsion rising in my throat.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening to me.

He leaned in and his voice rumbled in my ear. “Just say the word and I’ll send it to your papà and Dante. So they know once and for all who you belong to.”

Panic expanded in my lungs, clawing and biting for escape.

“Please don’t,” I begged. Tears burned the back of my eyes. It was humiliating to think of anyone seeing the video.

“Tell me what I want to know.” Who was this man? Taunting and harsh, yes, but was he cruel too?

Tears ran down my cheeks at the impossibility of the situation.

“Dante and I have never done anything,” I whimpered. “Not even a kiss.”

The look of pure relief appeared on his face. He lowered to his haunches in front of me and rubbed his thumb over my lip, slowly trailing a finger down my neck and into my hair.

“I can’t lose you again,” he said softly, nuzzling his face against my hair while twisting a curl around his finger. “I want them to know.” With one press of his finger, the sound of a message being sent hit my ears. My heart dropped like lead. “You’re mine now,” he purred against my ear, his voice sinister.

Acid and anger climbed up my throat. I lay naked except for the two pendants pressing against my skin, serving as a reminder of how far I’d fallen. Heart racing against my rib cage, I held his gaze.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, letting out all my frustration.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I lashed out, attempting to headbutt him. He was too fast, jerking back out of reach. “Take me back home, you fucking asshole.”

“No.”

His calm voice enraged me even more. “Release me.” Desperation crawled up my throat. “I swear to God, Amon.” I pounded my fist against his chest. “I will never forgive you.” Tears burned the back of my eyes. “I need to get to Phoenix.”

“She’s safe back at your apartment.”

“You’re giving me whiplash,” I said, glaring at him menacingly. “You think you can come back into my life and do whatever you want.” I let out a bitter laugh. “You’re history to me.” When he didn’t respond, I screamed with raw fury. “You hear me? You’re fucking history.”

His eyes flashed with something terrifying.

“Better watch it, Reina.” He reached for me and I flinched. Not because I was scared but because I knew what happened when he touched me. “Push me and I might prove you wrong.”

“Get lost,” I breathed, clutching the sheets to my chest and feeling angrier than ever at myself for being so weak. “I have to get dressed and I’m starving. You’d better have food here. Otherwise I’ll throw myself overboard.”

“Try and run, cinnamon girl. I’ll catch you every time.” The subtle threat in his voice penetrated my veins, freezing my blood from the inside out. “Change and meet me on the upper deck. You know the way.”

I jumped off the bed when the door closed behind him. A cool draft touched my bare skin and sent a shiver through me.

I rushed around, looking for something to wear. My feet soft against the plush carpet, I reached the dresser and opened it. My eyes widened and a soft gasp slipped through my lips. It was stocked with designer clothes for every season. Givenchy. Prada. My designs.

“Don’t be so easily impressed,” I muttered to myself. “The guy is an asshole. Remember what he did three years ago. Remember what he did ten minutes ago.”

Self-loathing came back with a vengeance. The sun slanted across my body as I rushed to pick out something to wear—undergarments, leggings, a pink Givenchy sweater—then headed for the shower.

Despite the water spraying hot against my skin, cold prickles erupted over me as I thought of all the shit I’d done wrong. I’d managed to make a giant mess of everything. I was supposed to take Phoenix and run, not get kidnapped by none other than my fiancé’s brother. Worry slithered down my spine as different possibilities of escape played through my mind.

Swimming. Getting to the captain’s cabin to call the coast guard. Stealing the yacht. Flagging down another boat. So many ideas and no clue how to execute a single one of them.

I scrubbed every inch of my skin until it turned red, standing under the streaming water for minutes. Once out of the shower, I got dressed, slipping the one-piece on first.

I needed a plan to get off this godforsaken yacht. A good one.

My eyes flicked to the horizon, the shoreline now in sight. I could steal a tender and drive it ashore. How hard could lowering it into the water and starting up the motor be?