Chapter Forty-Three
Riley
I regulate every breath, slow and measured, even as my heart batters my ribcage like a frantic animal trying to smash its way out. My chest aches from the force of it, and my mouth tastes faintly of iron, but my lips peel back into a smile so sugary it makes my teeth hurt.
I angle my chin, let my lashes hood my gaze, and turn my voice into a warm honey-murmur.
“Come here, Viper.” I hum it like a secret. “It’s been so long.”
He halts mid-stride. The heavy ring of keys dangles from his fingers, catching the dim bulbs overhead with a dull metallic glint.
His eyes flicker. Some part of him softens, but not with kindness; never with kindness, not from him.
What lives there is hunger, naked and ugly.
The hunger I remember from the days when he prowled my every boundary, when he taught me how to shrink and disappear in a room. When he taught me fear.
“I knew you remembered.” His words slither across the space between us, a soft, snake-like whisper. “I knew you still wanted me.”
I simulate a giggle — just enough, not too much. It sounds almost girlish, and I want to vomit.
“You brought me all the way down here,” I say, rubbing the ice-cold chain with my thumb as if it’s jewelry. “All this trouble, just for me. That’s dedication. I might actually be flattered.”
He grins, and something primal leers out from behind his teeth. He steps closer; the keys jingling a little as his hands shake. “That’s my girl,” he says.
No. Never again.
But I nod, slow, seductive, eyes bright as I let him drink in the lie. He is so, so certain of himself — the man, the monster, the myth he’s built in his own head. I let him savor it.
His right hand rises, knuckles cracked and raw, and he touches my cheek. The skin there tingles, then burns. I force myself not to recoil; I lean into the touch instead, as if starved for it.
“Let’s get you out of these,” he croons, fishing the key from the ring.
He crouches, his arm brushing my bare thigh as he slips the key into the padlock. I stiffen, but I keep the seductive mask on. The chain falls from my left wrist with a click.
Then the right.
My hands are free.
I flex my fingers behind my back; the joints popping from disuse, and swallow a sob that isn’t terror, but hope — a hope so thin it might snap if I exhale too hard.
I can’t make a move, not yet. Not with his hands so close and his reflexes primed by violence.
I can’t scream either. I need him to believe he’s still the one in charge. I need him close.
I lean in and brush my lips against his.
For a second he freezes, startled by my sudden boldness, but then he melts, his hands trembling as they find my hips. I can feel him shuddering with sick anticipation. I bite back bile and whisper against his mouth, “You missed this, didn’t you?”
He nods, dazed, drunk on the old power. On the memory of me as a girl and himself as the god who broke her.
Good.
I kiss him again, harder and rougher. He kisses me back open-mouthed, his tongue sliding between my lips; I’ll let him taste what he thinks is surrender.
But I am tasting him too.
In a way he’ll never expect.
I strike. And then — blood; his tongue, caught between my teeth, and I bite down with every ounce of hatred and animal desperation I have hoarded for him. I taste copper and salt and rage, and I clamp my jaw shut until I feel flesh break.
He jerks back, shrieking, a red veil spraying from his mouth. “You bitch!”
I’m already on him.
I scream — raw, primal, animal — and I hurl myself at him with everything in me.
My fingernails slash at his face, aimed straight for his eyes.
He screams as one nail catches skin, dragging across his cheek.
He hits me with his forearm, slamming me into the wall.
Pain explodes across my ribs, but I don’t stop.
I lunge again, nails raking, teeth bared, kicking, clawing, grabbing fistfuls of hair and ripping.
I’m half-blind with rage, years of terror igniting into something volcanic, unstoppable.
“You won’t touch me again!” I shriek, spittle flying. “I’m not your fucking victim! GO TO HELL!”
He punches me in the face, fist crunching my cheekbone, and for a second I see fireworks. My head hits the wall, ears ringing, but instinct takes over. I spit blood at him, the bright red spray hitting his lips and cheek.
He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “You stupid bitch,” he slurs, tongue thick and mangled in his mouth. “Look what you did!”
“Yeah,” I growl. “I am. I’m a fucking bitch who’s through being afraid of you.”
Teeth bared, I leap at him, trying to bite the side of his face. He recoils, but not fast enough — I catch his earlobe between my teeth and yank, tearing the flesh. He howls, shoving me so hard that I tumble over a pile of old rags and land on the ground, skidding on my knees.
But I get back up.
“You think I’m still scared of you?” I spit. “You think you can make me run?”
He lunges.
I duck, slam my knee into his groin, then rake my nails across his jaw. He cries out, and for a second, a whole second, I think I might win. Then he grabs the chains I’d been bound with. With a smile, he brings it whistling through the air, and it crashes into my skull.
I collapse onto the cold concrete, vision melting into smeared colors. My ears ring. My limbs go numb. The world narrows to a tunnel.
Viper stands over me, breathing hard, blood oozing from the wounds in his mouth and on his face.
“Should’ve stayed the sweet little thing you used to be,” he snarls. “This would’ve made this so much easier for you. But now, I’m going to take my time.”
The last thing I see before darkness swallows me whole is his bloody mouth turn into a smile.