Make Me Sin (Dark Gods #1)

Chapter 19

I think I obeyed Seth with or without my will. I don't even remember when I fell asleep; it must've been right after he left the room. I’m beginning to turn into a baby who can't control herself. Yet, I do know that in the morning, when I woke up, I let the doctor check on my wounds again, and then had the damn breakfast he was talking about. It was actually delicious. I’ll just never admit that to another living person.

I spent the rest of the day in the room. Not that I could go anywhere in my condition. I just kept an eye on the door, waiting for Seth to come in at any second. That didn’t happen on that day or even the next. I don't even know if he's keeping his promise or just tormenting me. I can't figure out what's worse: being all alone in the room for three days or spending all that time waiting for him to come and claim me.

The three days pass, as do the following two. There's no sign of Seth. Just his staff bringing me food, some clothes to wear, and whatever other disposables I am in need of. Even the doctor stopped checking up on me. She said I should be fine from now on. But that's my main problem. I'm not going to be fine from now on. I am stressed, an actual nervous mess, and the more I start to recover, the more I'm beginning to feel trapped along with my darkest thoughts inside these walls. I’d been thinking about Nick a lot lately, and no matter what he’d done to me, he didn't deserve to die.

Sure, I’ve thought about killing him myself, but that was just in theory. I would never have put something like that into practice without Seth forcing my hand to do it. Now, I am as much of a murderer as he is, and I’ll never allow myself to forget what darkness hides behind his charming face.

Seven days have passed, and I feel like I'm about to talk to myself soon. Maybe I should get used to it because I don't think Seth will ever allow me to have any friends. Maybe he wants to drive me just as crazy as he is, and at this rate, he's surely going to succeed.

I’m a little baffled by his absence. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would break his word . But it's not exactly like I'm going to call and ask him why he didn't come to fuck me when he said he would. I think I could live without that.

Just when I was trying to settle into the thought that I was going to spend my life in bed, watching TV, I hear something ringing. It sounds like a phone, and as I check the drawer of my nightstand, I find one there. I have no idea how it got there, but I can see the name that's written on the screen . Set.

I don't know why it’s spelled this way. I thought it would be Seth, but I do know it's for me, and that it's mandatory that I answer.

“Yes.” My voice cracked, probably because I hadn't spoken to anyone in days. The staff comes and goes as if they're all afraid of me. I know they're actually afraid of Seth, and whatever he might do to them if they interact with me, so I don't even bother to ask them any questions.

As usual, Seth goes straight to the point. “Go downstairs to the store we met at and get yourself something nice to wear. Then meet me for dinner at 8 at the Italian restaurant in Wing C.”

That's it. No please, no goodbye, and no chance to refuse him.

In a strange way, I’m anxious, and I could kick myself for it, but I blame it on wanting to get out of the room. And that's exactly why I freshen up a bit and head straight to the store. It's only 2 o'clock, but I need any kind of excuse to leave his penthouse.

If on any of the previous days , there was a guard at my door who didn't let me leave the room; now it seems I am alone in the penthouse. So, I spent a few minutes snooping around the place. I can't even count the rooms, but I know Seth's is next to mine. I remember him saying it to the guard, so I made a point of staying away from that area . I don't know if he's in or not, but I sure don't want to walk straight into the lion's den.

I’ll come back and check the place later. I'm on a mission to buy myself a dress, and I don't even understand why I am so thrilled about it. I’m going to have dinner with the killer that owns my fucking body, and now it seems he even owns my mind. In what world is that okay enough for me to be even slightly excited about? My whole life is turning into a joke, and I'm doing nothing to stop it. On the contrary, I'm just going with the flow, trying to keep up with this madness.

So here I am, stepping out into the lobby, waiting for the guard that’s stationed in front of the apartment to stop me. He doesn't do that; he just lowers his eyes to the floor, like Her Majesty just walked past him. The same goes for the guard at the elevator, and the same for every other member of the staff I meet as I walk through the hotel.

Okay, this shit is beginning to get weird.

Maybe, out of boredom, I decide to test the waters and enter the first cosmetic shop I see on my way.

I don't spend long there, just look at a bath bomb and a shower cream. I don’t have any money to get them anyway, but before I even finish on the aisle, one of the employees takes the products I just looked at from the shelf and wraps them in fine silk paper, puts them in a bag, and gives them to me—hotel complimentary, of course.

I know Seth didn't set out an expense limit when it came to what Nick and I could get from his hotel while we were doing the job. But I'm not even using my card now. This is insane. I was kind of wondering how I was going to pay for the dress. I figured out he probably called the store before he sent me there, but it seems he let the whole hotel know.

I find it only fair to give it another try; it's also a cosmetic shop—I am a woman, after all. This time, I go for make-up and leave with a bag so large that I can barely carry it.

It doesn’t remain a burden for a long time since the guard who’s watching me from a distance notices it and rushes to help me. “Mr. Malvagio asked me to take that to the penthouse.” He takes the bag out of my hand and disappears to the elevator.

Holy shit. Oh, this is going to be fun. I just pray Seth won't make me pay for all of this in some way.

Who am I even kidding? I think I am hoping he will make me pay for it.

I wonder if he has a shrink around here. I could always ask, but he would probably tell Seth he’s the cause of all of my problems, and that would only make things worse.

I finally walk into the dress shop. It wasn't long ago that I visited this shop to pick out the dress for my mission. I should have run away back then. Because now it’s definitely too late.

I start by trying out a golden dress. It looks divine, but I don't want to overdo it. I don't want it to look like I've struggled for him. And I don't want it to look like I haven't either for him to get mad.

This is going to be a tough one.

I could always go with the long-neck Victorian dress. That should be a cock blocker, but the salesgirl convinces me out of it just by flashing me the most exquisite emerald dress I have ever seen.

It's love at first sight, even though the model seems simple at first. It's the lines I'm in love with. I know it will fall perfectly on my body. I may have lived in Elko for the past six months, but when it comes to fashion, my heart lives in Milan. It's like riding a bike. You never forget it, and although I used to tell myself that I didn't need fashion or luxury brands in my life to feel complete, it was all a lie. I know it now as I wrap myself in the fine material, and pick up a designer purse to go with it.

I may burn in hell next to Seth, but I’ll surely be dressed for the occasion.

This reminds me of my old lifestyle and, implicitly, of Michael. I never got to figure out who killed him. I guess I’ll never have that chance now. To be honest, I'm not even sure how many days I have left for myself. There's not much I can do anyway, except move on and see what this day has in store for me.

I go back to Seth's penthouse to finish getting ready. He's probably going to be mad that I'm skipping another meal, but I can't even look at food right now. There is a knot in my stomach that is twisting so badly that I think I'm going to throw up at any moment. I haven't been this nervous for as long as I can remember. I don't know what it is about this man, but he has this uncanny ability to make my hands tremble almost to the point where I can barely hold the eyeliner steady. Maybe I'm trying too hard to get myself pretty for him. I don't even know if I'm doing it out of a survival instinct, or just because I want to live up to his expectations. That thought only increases that knot, and by the time I'm done, I realize I spent four hours in the mirror to get ready.

Fuck, this must be a new record even for me. But then again, I did have a few unhealed cuts and bruises to cover. They peek through the dress in all the wrong places, and the last thing I need is people staring at me like I’m roadkill, even though in reality, that's exactly what I am.

My wounds aren't completely healed yet, but they've started giving me less and less trouble every day. Still, I'm not ready to face Seth. I don't think I will ever be truly ready to face him. Yet, here I am, putting my shoes on and stepping out of the apartment to go meet him.

The guards around don't give me any kind of attention, but I know there's someone watching me at all times. Seth is just testing me to see if I will slip up, and I don't plan to give him the opportunity to watch me fail.

My heart shrinks to the size of a fly as I walk through the long corridors to the restaurant where I'm supposed to meet with him. I feel like everyone is watching me now, judging my every step. And how could they not, when I feel like I have become the biggest judge of my mistakes? I'm ditching morality to save myself. There's no redemption for me. I’m offering myself to the devil just because I was weak and didn't say no to the man who hurt me so much in the past.

We all pay for our mistakes, one way or another, and my bill has just been served. It's painted in the image of one of the most attractive men I've ever seen. As deadly as he is handsome, oozing an unspoken power of seduction that is meant to make me shed the last drop of my mental sanity.

I feel my legs shaking as I enter the restaurant. I don't even have to give my name at the door. The hostess greets me like she has known me for a lifetime, and for a second, I’m overwhelmed by the power that comes along with being Seth's girl.

I don't even know if that's what I really am. He didn't give me a title, except for Ya’amar. I don't even know what that means. I tried to Google it one day, but I didn't have an internet connection on my phone… like I could even contact someone. What is he worried I could do? Email the police? And tell them what? I’m a thief, and now I’m a prisoner of my employer? It would probably be the joke of the day. In the best-case scenario, I’ll end up straight behind bars. I am a killer, after all—with or without my will.

I look at the girl who's leading me to my table. She's gorgeous—much more beautiful than I am—and walks with that fuck-me vibe attached to her ass. I don't get why Seth didn't choose someone like her to play around with. I'm sure she would be much more willing to fulfill whatever sick fantasies he has. But then I enter a secondary side room and spot him waiting for me at the table. He's on the phone with someone, his eyes on me, and I instantly realize why there can be no one else but me . A certain darkness spreads on his face the second he sees me, and all his demons come out to play, eager to torture whatever's left of my soul.

A waiter appears out of nowhere and pulls my chair to take a seat at Seth's table. It feels like he has an army of people working in the background for him, and that gives me a clue about the level of respect he gets around this place. He's not just the boss. He's the supreme leader. I can see it from the scared looks on everyone's faces, worrying about making even the slightest mistake that might anger the almighty Seth.

Except for the strange glance he threw me earlier, Seth continues with his phone call like he's unbothered by my presence. And strangely, that does bother me.

He's giving someone precise instructions about the terms of a contract. I guess he's playing businessman tonight, even though for me, he's always going to be the killer.

I want to hate him so badly, and I think I do hate him with most of my soul. Still, there is a part of me that is attracted to him, even if that’s happening against my will.

His indifference only gives me time to study him better. His square jawline moves with such precision that I can tell each time he grinds his teeth, demanding that things go his way. And I have a suspicion that's what usually happens.

Why can't you be ugly? I ask myself looking at him, knowing that my life would be so much easier if he was.

Without even taking his phone from his ear, he signals for one of the waiters to pour us some wine.

I don't see a problem with having a glass of wine, especially since I haven't eaten anything today.

Hmmm, maybe it would make the night go by much easier.

I'm almost convinced it will make the night go by easier. That takes me to my third glass of wine by the time he hangs up the phone.

And it doesn't go by without him noticing it. “If I had poured you that many glasses, you probably would’ve accused me of trying to get you too drunk . So the question is: Do you want to get drunk for me, Serena?”

“I don't think you need to get me drunk. You did specify that you own me.” I'm trying to act as cold as he is. But it seems I'm only succeeding to heat him up.

“Do you know the number of people that I allow to talk to me the way you do, and still live?” He asks, but I only deliver silence in return.

“Zero . I don't have much patience, Serena . I guess you noticed that already. I’ve never allowed someone to live after betraying me. So don't forget you're still walking on very thin ice.” He all but roars, placing his glass of wine on the dinner table so loudly that half of the restaurant turns to look our way.

They're all terrified; I can see it on their faces, and that makes me even more scared. He's a fucking monster, and I keep getting deceived by my stupid pussy, that’s constantly throwing me odd signals.

Sure, I would like to be brave, but I also like living, so the first probably rules the second one out. I just murmur, “Sorry,” and instantly see him calm down. He can feel my fear. It's all that he wants—to know he's in control again.

Luckily, the moment of weird silence doesn't last long; a man comes and interrupts us. He seems like an old friend, or more like an acquaintance of Seth. I don't even care who he is; all I care is that he's taking up my time. As far as I’m concerned, there could be a line of men waiting to talk to him. I couldn't be more thrilled.

And it seems my wish has come true. Someone from the hotel administration comes with a paper for Seth to sign, and shortly after, another man who just entered the restaurant comes to our table to greet the almighty boss in charge.

Strangely enough, Seth isn’t rude to any of them. Yet, every single person in this room fears him. I can see it from the way their voices shake when they talk to him, even from their body language, like they're trying to hide themselves from his piercing sight.

I think when it comes to him, I’m acting exactly like every other person here. I definitely hate him more than any other person in this room does though.

I wish the list of visitors could go on for longer, but soon after one of his managers leaves, Seth raises a finger, and I can see the guards signaling another man, who was just approaching our table, to stop.

We’re finally alone in a room full of people who want his attention. I never imagined it to be easy being in his position, but I never imagined it to bring so much responsibility. I always considered he had a man, or maybe an army that did everything for him. In fact, it looks like there are things that he needs to deal with himself.

I don't remember seeing him order, but the waiter comes with two portions of pasta and red prawns, and I can only thank God that it’s not lobster because I would probably pluck one of Seth's eyes out trying to use the nutcracker. I had a little incident a while ago when I was having dinner with my brother at an Italian restaurant. Ever since then, I have only eaten lobster in the privacy of my own home where I couldn’t embarrass myself. Not that I could afford it lately.

Seth isn't much of a talker, and since I don't usually enjoy the things he has to say, I prefer it that way. I try to focus my attention on my dinner, although I feel him studying my every move. And it's not the awkward way I try to chew my food or the way I hold my fork. It's something else, like an obsession, like he's trying to learn each one of my facial features. I'm a prize to him, and that scares the hell out of me. In fact, so badly that I can no longer keep to myself a question that's been on my mind for a few days now: “So why did you let me live?” I instantly regret asking—like most of the things that come out of my mouth. But at least I can hope for an answer.

“Except for playing with you?” he asks like the supreme predator he is, making me feel as worthless as the fragile antelope the lion serves for noon.

“Yes, except for that.” I barely speak, trying not to get my food stuck in my throat.

“I do have an ulterior motive for keeping you alive.” His answer comes as a surprise, even though I hoped I served a different purpose than being the object of his torture. “I want you to work for me. I have another artifact I need. This time, hopefully without incidents.”

“Hopefully,” I ghost the words out, somehow happy that he has a real use for me. That gives me more chances to stay alive, but at the same time worries me because it also gives me more chances to fail. “So, where is this artifact?” I ask, trying to take the conversation somewhere else other than just him doing my head in.

“This one isn’t going to be too difficult. It's in the vault of a closed art museum. According to my information, they won't move it for at least a couple of weeks. But I can't risk waiting that long.” He seems dead serious about it, and that only forms another question in my mind.

“What are these artifacts to you? I'm pretty sure you can buy almost any piece of art you want.”

“I can also buy any piece of pussy I want, but that didn't stop me from wanting you, did it?” And we're back where we left off. He's turning this conversation to the topic I'm avoiding, but I have a feeling this time he's doing it especially so he won't give me a true answer.

There is much more to these artifacts than I realized. I just can't force him to tell me about them yet without stepping into the red zone.

“We'll talk about it in a couple of days. I don't want to mix business with pleasure tonight.” He concludes by making me swallow the knot in my throat.

Pleasure?

The word now haunts my mind against my will. What did he mean by that?

I just hope he meant the pleasure the delicious lemon cake, which has just been brought to the table, will bring . Although I know it's not that, my pussy feels like it's making Kegel exercises every time I'm around him, and every single dirty thought a person could have is gathering in my mind like flies on a rotting corpse.

I'm sick—so sick that I'm mentally slapping myself over and over again, hoping I will get out of it.

But the word pleasure is still there. Thank God I'm wearing foundation, or I would probably be blushing by now. Still, by the seductive smile that's blooming on his lips he knows exactly where I went for a couple of seconds.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks all of a sudden, like it's the most normal question in the world, while I'm feeling like I'm beginning to have trouble breathing. “I can hear it in your thoughts. You don't need to deny it.” He continues to act like he's been inside my mind, and seen every dirty thought there. “I know you don't want to want it, but you can’t help yourself, can you?”

I suddenly feel attacked, like he knows too many intimate details about me. And again, some kind of weird self-defense mechanism I never used against Nick kicks in. “Are you having some kind of food allergy?”

I want to make him out as the insane one, but we both know I am the one racing toward insanity right now.

And it turns out I just managed to infuriate him again. “I just told you I don't like it when people talk back to me. But I know you do it out of fear, so it’s beginning to be a turn-on for me. And since you insist on fighting me, I will enjoy it even more when I break you. You're like a battle to me. And there's one thing you should know about me, Serena. I. Always. Win.”

I want so badly to snap back at him again, but I know I will be crossing the final limit, especially since the man just gave me the biggest warning about it. Maybe I’m a masochist, because it seems I keep pushing him to use his imagination to torture me.

I decide to keep quiet for the rest of the dinner, and by the looks of it, there's not much left of it. His phone rings again, and that does help me with the keeping quiet part.

In some strange way, I suspect it also helps him because I'm testing out his patience, and that's pushing him to keep good on his threats.

Still, my moment of freedom only lasts a few minutes after we finish dessert. I see him turning off his phone, and slipping it in his pocket.

“Do you want anything more from the kitchen?” he asks.

Yes, I would like every single item that's on the menu, if that would imply staying here for the rest of the night . I don't want to know where we're going when dinner is over.

Of course, I don't tell him that. I don't want to be adding to the list of talking back to him .

“No, I'm good.” I force myself to answer, then wait to see what his next move would be.

“Then let's get out of here before they start forming a line.” He glances in the direction of his guard, where a few men are already waiting for him to sort out who knows what shit out.

We get up from the dinner table, and it's not long before I feel his hand sneaking to the small of my back, right above my ass. He’s guiding me out of the restaurant. I'm in trouble, and I know it with every step we take, as his grip on my back gets tighter, like he can’t keep his fingers from playing with my dress.

He feels so warm, like he's a whole different man than the one I just had dinner with. That's exactly what gives him such deadly potential. He's fire and ice brought together to create the perfect tornado. And I'm just about to realize how deep I'm heading into the storm as we reach the 13th floor. For a second, I thought we were going back up to his penthouse. As much as that thought was troubling me, seeing that he was leading me straight to the suite where Nick and I stayed is giving me a damn heart attack.

What the hell are we doing here?