CHAPTER 5 #2
He didn't let go. He twisted my wrist, forcing my arm behind my back, pulling me flush against the table edge. His face was inches from mine now. I could feel the heat radiating off him.
"Bad idea," he whispered.
I struggled, grunting, trying to kick him, but the table blocked me. "Let go of me!"
"You belong to the syndicate now, Scarlett," he said, his voice dropping an octave, turning into that low growl that made my insides vibrate. "I am the syndicate's hand. You will learn your place. Every breath you take, every bite you eat, is mine to give or take away."
I stared into his eyes. They were abysses. No empathy. No mercy. Just cold, hard ownership.
He reached out with his free hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers were rough, calloused. The touch burned.
"You are collateral," he said softly. "You are a thing to be kept. Not a person to be heard."
Something inside me snapped. Not fear. Not the will to survive. But the tether on my rage.
I wasn't a thing. I wasn't a check to be cashed.
I gathered the moisture in my mouth—what little there was. I looked at that perfect, arrogant face. That sharp cheekbone. That scar.
Fuck you.
I spit.
It wasn't much, just a spray of saliva and venom, but it hit him square on the cheek, right below his eye. A glistening, wet mark on his pristine skin.
The silence that followed was terrifying.
Nikolai froze. He went absolutely still, like a statue carved from granite. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe.
I panted, my chest heaving, staring at what I’d done. My heart was hammering so hard I thought it would burst through my ribs. I did it. I actually did it.
For three seconds, nobody moved. The red light seemed to pulse brighter.
Then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, Nikolai raised his hand. He wiped the spit from his cheek with his thumb. He looked at the wetness on his skin, then back at me.
His pupils dilated. They blew wide, swallowing the iris until his eyes were black holes.
A low sound rumbled in his chest. A growl. Pure malevolence.
"Run," my brain screamed. "Run now."
But he had my wrist.
"Big mistake," he said.
He moved.
He lunged out of the chair, dragging me with him. I screamed as he spun me around, his hand tangling in my hair, gripping the roots with a violence that made my eyes water. He yanked my head back, exposing my throat, arching my spine until it cracked.
"No!" I shrieked, clawing at his arm.
He slammed me back against the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me. Before I could inhale, he was there.
He smashed his mouth onto mine.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision. It was an assault.
His lips were hard, bruising, punishing. He forced my mouth open, not asking, taking. I tasted copper instantly—he’d bitten my lip. The pain was sharp, shocking.
I tried to bite him back. I snapped my teeth, catching his lower lip, tasting his blood mixed with mine.
He didn't pull away. He groaned, a rough, animal sound against my mouth, and deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into my mouth, invading, conquering. He tasted like coffee and apples and rage.
He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his body pressing me into the wall, crushing me. He was heavy, solid muscle, overwhelming.
I fought. I writhed. I tried to knee him, but his thigh was wedged between my legs, pinning me.
And then, God help me, it shifted.
The adrenaline, the fear, the pain... it all twisted into something else. A spark. A jolt of static electricity that shot straight to my groin.
My body betrayed me. My breath hitched. A low whimper escaped my throat—not of pain, but of... need.
I felt him freeze against me. He felt it too. I knew he did. His breath was ragged, harsh against my cheek. I could feel the thudding of his heart against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
For a second, the violence turned into heat. Searing, confusing, terrifying heat.
He tore his mouth away from mine with a wet, sharp sound.
We stood there, chests heaving, gasping for air. My lip was throbbing, bleeding. His was too.
He looked at me, his eyes wild, blown wide, looking at me like he’d never seen me before. Like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve.
I stared back, trembling, my legs shaking so hard I could barely stand. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing the blood.
"What..." I whispered.
He didn't answer. He looked furious. He looked like he wanted to kill me, or fuck me, or both.
He released my wrists abruptly. I slumped against the wall, my knees giving way.
He stepped back, straightening his jacket, though his hands were shaking slightly. He looked at the tray of food. Then at the door.
"Eat," he rasped. His voice was wrecked.
He turned on his heel and stormed out.
The door didn't slam this time. It clicked shut with a soft, final sound.
I slid down the wall to the floor, touching my swollen lip. The taste of him—coffee, apples, blood—was still in my mouth. The red light hummed. The bell was silent.
The food was there. The water was there.
But I wasn't hungry anymore. I was terrified. Because for a split second, when his mouth was on mine... I hadn't wanted him to stop.