Chapter 7
Seven
Knox
I almost tore off her clothes and took her right there against the door. Covered in sweat and terror. The fear in her yes—the fright—equal parts disturbed me and turned me the fuck on. My cock pressed painfully against the zipper of my pants, demanding to be used, demanding to claim her.
Rape.
That would’ve been rape. To take a petrified woman.
I’d done a lot of deplorable, unforgivable things in my life, but never that. Never would I abuse someone like that. I killed plenty of people without remorse.
But I learned at a young age there are worse things than death.
And I may be a devil in many respects, but never that kind of devil. Never would I sentence a person to hell without the mercy of death.
Shame.
The unfamiliar, uncomfortable emotion coated me as I prowled through the woods.
Shame at just how fucking close I’d been to losing control.
Me.
But was she completely unwilling?
She despised me. Feared me.
But I saw something else beyond hatred and fright in her eyes. I saw lust.
The gold in her eyes turned molten. Was the flush in her cheeks solely from the run, the hitch in her breath caused by just fear and physical exertion? The way her rosebud lips had parted, her long eyelashes fluttering…
But I couldn’t trust my eyes. Not with my traitorous cock telling them lies. A cock that had never once influenced my decisions.
I rubbed at my eyes, the brush crumbling under my feet.
Fuck, I needed a coffee.
But I didn’t since Piper was a ‘caffeine addict’ as declared on social media. I was going to strip her of all of her vices, comforts. Withdrawal from substances even as seemingly benign as caffeine could help break a person.
Under the right circumstances.
I’d been confident that I had all of the right ingredients to break Piper. I just hadn’t accounted for my hunger for her. Hadn’t thought that she might possess all the right weapons to break me. An easy, lyrical laughter, a soft exterior hiding a will of stone beneath.
“Fuck!” I roared, slamming my fist against a tree, disturbing the silence of the woods.
Blood trickled from a cut in my knuckle.
Though I relished the pain, the relief that came from tearing open my skin, this mark was a problem.
It was not easily hidden, masked. It was somewhere that would declare my lack of control. Lack of power.
I thought about my initial feeling, waking up to find Piper gone. To discover I’d slept through her moving around the cabin. Leaving.
She could’ve taken the opportunity to kill me in my sleep. That’s what I would’ve done in her position.
But not everyone was like me. Not everyone killed easier than breathing, became a living nightmare to escape their own demons and needed to split their skin open to feel anything.
Not everyone was a monster.
Somehow, Piper was gentle. In this cruel world, she hadn’t been beaten down, embittered. Not even with the proof that goodness was not rewarded. It was only coveted by men like Stone, destroyed by men like me.
That wasn’t what captivated me about her, though. It was the fire that burned through that gentleness. She wasn’t weak. That defiant tilt of her chin, the way she overcame her fear of me. The confidence of her gait as she tore through unforgiving woods. Her sense of direction in a place that almost turned me around. Her chopping fucking wood.
I stared at my blood staining a tree that had likely been standing longer than I’d been alive, in woods that were older than our civilized country.
Civilized.
That’s something I wasn’t. Something I’d never be. A demon in a suit, masquerading as a human but not quite pulling it off.
We were different species. I needed to remind myself of that.
I did not deserve an ounce of pleasure or happiness the prospect of her promised.
And she did not deserve the lifetime of ruin I promised.
Then again, her life was already ruined with or without me.
Piper
The temperature was impressive, given how remote the cabin was, but even the scalding-hot shower couldn’t cure me, couldn’t chase away the chill nesting in my neurons. I’d investigated the hot water source—a large propane tank slightly removed from the house. I wanted to ask Knox about the plumbing, the running water. My guess would be some kind of gravity fed system from a nearby creek, or maybe a well. But no way was I making conversation with Knox after what happened.
It was selfish of me to take such a long and hot shower since the propane would eventually run out. But I didn’t give a shit about Knox’s hot showers. I probably should’ve at the very least thought about future me needing showers, but I wasn’t able to think practically right then.
I’d scrubbed myself raw, as if I could get the power of his gaze off my skin. It wasn’t on my skin, though; it was imprinted in my cells.
Despite the warmth of the shower, the body heat generated from the run and the rapidly warming spring morning, my teeth chattered.
I’d put on a long-sleeved shirt, a cardigan and leggings, trying to let my hair air dry outside in the sun while again nibbling on an apple and some bread.
My body was crying out for coffee, but a half-desperate search of the cupboards showed there was none to be had.
That further solidified my theory that Knox was some kind of robot or vampire. There was no way he could be human if he didn’t operate on caffeine. Especially considering the lack of sleep he’d had. And I assumed chasing, kidnapping and terrifying people took up a lot of energy.
Drugs, then, if he was indeed human. It had to be stimulants. I’d seen behind the curtain, discovering that many successful people were on some kind of drug to keep them up, to get them up, to bring them down.
Although I didn’t see the signs of addiction in him. That didn’t mean much; addicts were experts at lying, hiding their true selves.
But Knox wasn’t hiding his true self. He was showing what a monster he was without shame, regret. He wanted me to see it. Be scared.
And though I was plenty scared, I couldn’t give in to that fear. This was only the beginning, after all. This was a month of living with the devil, and I was going to use it as training to survive being married to whatever Stone was.
Training to end him.
Because I’d figured there was truly no escape. Nothing that wouldn’t risk my sister. I’d let him think Knox broke me. And while I was here, I’d watch Knox. His cruelty, brutality, hoping it would rub off on me. It basically leached from his skin, so it should.
And most importantly, I would ignore any and all attraction I had to the man. It must’ve been some kind of mirage, some trickster magic of the Appalachian woods that had me feeling it.
I was definitely not attracted to him.
No.
I was fascinated by him. Because on the surface, he seemed like my destruction, but if I played things right, he might just be my salvation.
He’d teach me to be the villain I’d need to be.
Because I was beginning to understand that life wasn’t like my books. A woman didn’t need to slay dragons nor ride them. No, she needed to become a dragon, breathe fire on all men who considered her conquerable.
One Day Later
I didn’t see Knox for the entirety of the day after our … altercation, if that’s what you’d call it. I’d hidden inside the cabin, bracing for him to come in the door, hurt me … or make good on that shadow of prurience I’d told myself I had imagined.
I’d shuffled and dealt my cards, the spread changing except one Tarot card.
The Devil.
It came time after time.
It was too weird, even for me.
The Devil card was, granted, a misunderstood card. It didn’t hold its roots in the classic religious connotations of the term. Not to me anyway.
The Devil represented a darker side of us all, one we rarely brought to light, one we ignored, shunned or reviled. It was the ugly little voice in our heads saying jealous things, self-deprecating things, or wanting things that were deplorable. Destructive.
It warned against taking the path of instant gratification because it was often the path of destruction.
Even without a Tarot card, I understood that giving in to any kind of carnal desire I felt for Knox would lead me to ruin.
And yet…
I’d always felt an affinity for that card. Especially given the battles I’d fought in the past. It had brought shadows to light, understanding them so I could release their hold.
The Devil was also about sexuality. About being unashamed about cravings that society scorned or shunned—providing everything was consensual and everyone was of age. But again, this card represented how exploring such things was walking on a narrow path. If not with someone safe and respectful, pain and devastation would ensue.
Again, this was all too chilling and much too accurate for my situation, even for me. Rattled, I’d buried the cards in my bag then stared at the wall until I couldn’t stare anymore.
I was not a person to sit idle. So I’d tidied. Cleaned. Straightened up the rustic cabin as best I could.
The furnishings were sparse, linens mostly threadbare, but the table was made of solid wood, the rug covering smooth wooden floors. In the tiny linen cabinet I’d discovered old lace curtains that had once hung on the windows. This place had fallen into disrepair, but it was built well, to withstand. And small touches like the lace curtains, the fading paint on the shutters, the rugs, the overgrown garden, told me that at one point, people had lived here and been proud to call it home.
Now this was little more than a cage. But I could rectify that. Turn it into something a little better, do the previous owners a favor. I was relieved to have a task, to do something other than gaze at the door, waiting for Knox to return.
When Knox finally came in, I instantly retreated to the bathroom, telling myself I was there to clean it, not escape him. I mentally said that as I scrubbed behind the toilet with an old toothbrush I found in the back of the cabinet.
When I emerged, he was once again cooking, the telltale smell of meat wafting through the cabin. Disgusted, I’d pursed my lips, stomped into the cabin to snatch a piece of quickly staling bread, careful not to look at him before retreating outside to eat before going to bed.
I didn’t fall asleep for a long time. Couldn’t. Not with him there. It was barely possible to breathe through the thick air.
Eventually, my body succumbed, the exertion of the run, the adrenaline and the scant amount of food I’d consumed exhausting me. I woke early again, donning running clothes. Knox didn’t chase me that time.
Which was good, I reminded myself.
I especially reminded myself that the little urge inside of me didn’t exist. The urge that wanted to be chased, wanted that fear and desire mixing inside of me, wanted to go back to yesterday, to the most alive I’d ever felt in my three decades walking the earth.
The plan was to talk to him as little as possible. Give him the silent treatment, be an overall bitch to him. I didn’t consider myself a bitch and didn’t think it was an okay thing to be—though too many women were labeled that way by men for merely being assertive and not fawning all over them—but I thought etiquette dictated that you could be a bitch to the man holding you hostage.
Again, that had been the plan. But I wasn’t practiced at being a bitch. So I kind of forgot my plan. I didn’t forget about my captivity, mind you. Just the vow I’d made to myself. I liked being alone, was happy with books, cooking, being in nature, meditating, reading Tarot, tending to my small herb garden on our rooftop.
But it was hard to do a lot of those things in a small, one-room cabin with a statuesque man quietly emanating various degrees of menace.
It made me uneasy. And very scared.
But I didn’t want to show my fear. Something told me that he was used to that, Knox.
I assumed he had plenty of people submitting to his will, his commands, doing everything in their power to avoid him. And yes, ancient survival instincts and general common sense were telling me to keep as far away from him as possible and to keep our interactions to a bare minimum.
But there was something more than common sense, something borne out of my penchant for romance books and affinity for the villain as opposed to the hero. Beauty and the Beast was my favorite Disney movie, after all. I liked the beast, I liked that he could’ve ripped Belle apart at any moment. And aside from the fact that it would’ve made the movie a lot less child-friendly, it wouldn’t be as appealing to young girls.
We want to tame the beast. We want to know its talons could rip us apart, but instead, they stroke our skin. That their teeth could chew our flesh, but instead, their lips go to our most intimate and vulnerable of places…
“Here.” I kind of yelled the word as I placed a steaming mug of tea in front of Knox. In the short time we’d been in each other’s company, I’d noted that he drank it often. Not coffee—we didn’t have any coffee. Tea. An interesting choice for a man like him.
Tea, a delicate, mindful drink that required care, ritual. Or at least the way I drank it.
I’d likely put too much thought into it, since there wasn’t anything else to drink but tea. It could’ve been borne from necessity, nothing else.
He looked up from the book he’d been reading, the battered paperback so worn the title wasn’t legible. I’d tried to crane my head to find it in the interior, but I never got close enough to it—to him—and he didn’t leave it lying around.
It was likely How to Dismember and Dispose of a Body in Less Than Twenty Minutes .
He closed it as I got close, not marking where he’d left off. I didn’t see him look to memorize the page number either.
Interesting.
His entire form stiffened as I leaned close to place the tea in front of him.
“It’s not coffee.” I stepped back, circling my fingers around my own warm mug, inhaling the steam as it came out. “Obviously. You know that, since you didn’t buy coffee. If I didn’t already think so due to you working for Stone and kidnapping me and everything, I would’ve pegged you as a psychopath for that alone.”
It was an attempt at a dark joke. To break the tension between us. Why I thought that breaking the tension with my kidnapper was a good idea was anyone’s guess.
Knox, quite unsurprisingly, didn’t smile at that. It wasn’t funny. Especially because he likely was a psychopath.
Then again, weren’t psychopaths highly charismatic, able to blend in, act like humans?
Knox wasn’t trying to act as if he was anything but a stone-cold killer. He was going out of his way to communicate that.
I took a deep breath then sipped my tea, looking out at the woods. They always seemed to stare back. I knew that made a lot of people afraid of this portion of Northern America, but it had always comforted me. Being looked upon by something wild, unpredictable, ancient.
“We’re going to be stuck together for a month. At least,” I continued my attempt to create some kind of dialogue between us. My plan of being a bitch and giving him the cold shoulder going up in flames. More flies with honey and all that. “I figure even you can’t talk in veiled threats and bad guy speech for that long. And we’re the only company we have. So…” I nodded to the tea. “An olive branch. One that you could reciprocate by, you know, going to the closest town to buy me something that isn’t dead animal. Not that I judge your eating habits. You do you.” I tucked my hair behind my ear with a free hand, not having felt this awkward since I was thirteen, trying to talk to a boy I liked.
Granted, he hadn’t kidnapped me, been over six feet, radiating menace from his pores, but he’d felt just as scary at the time.
And it hadn’t gone well. He’d been one of the cooler kids, and I’d taken a while to grow into my features. I always wore clothes that were slightly too small—even on my skinny frame—and blatantly cheap. It was clear we were poor, and things like socioeconomic status was fair game back then.
It had scared me off talking to boys for a long while. Then I grew boobs, and my features fit my face a little better. The boys did most of the talking, though. Not that they said anything worth listening to.
Knox had barely blinked during my babble session, nor had his features softened at all.
“You know, if the wind changes, your face will stay that way,” I joked lamely. “Or maybe it already has, and that’s why you’re always so…” I tried to school my features into his menacing expression but likely didn’t pull it off.
I’d been aiming to crack him a little by being a bit silly. But there wasn’t so much as a hairline fracture. He likely thought I was a ridiculous person.
That was fine. The goal was to have him thinking of me as a person instead of a job, a victim.
He looked from me to the tea.
Then, with the utmost patience and grace, he wrapped his hand around the tea, lifted it carefully and slowly, then hurled it at the wall. It shattered and splashes of hot water caught my face.
I flinched. Though I wanted to scream, scuttle away in terror, it took all of my self-control to stay in place; my mouth tasted of copper as I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.
His chair screeched as he stood. He didn’t move toward me as I expected him to do. Part of his routine—getting in my face, using his size to intimidate me and threaten me. Though he stayed where he was, the distance between us didn’t help my blood pressure any.
“We won’t need to be here for a month,” he sneered, eyeing me as if I were little more than a gnat buzzing around his face. “You’ll break long before that.”
Then he walked out.
My shaking hand lifted to sip my tea. I was trying to pretend I wasn’t rattled, while my teeth literally chattered against the rim of the mug.
“No, I won’t,” I called to his back.
But even I didn’t believe me.