CHAPTER SIX
KYRA
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Fuck him.
Fucking fuck him!
Compliant submissive? I am not.
I am...
I clamber off the bed and pace the floor with my fists clenched. Then I stamp my feet. My eyes dart around the room seeking something to throw, but of course he’s prisoner-proofed the place.
I grab a pillow and throw it, but it’s incredibly unsatisfactory. So, I storm into the bathroom and start pulling out toiletries.
Bang.
Smash.
I rip open the toothpaste and squirt it all over the mirror.
Jesus, this is making a mess. I’m not usually this messy, so it’s actually irking me, and I fight the urge to clean it up.
Tugging the towels off the rail, I throw them in the air then scream.
And scream.
I bang at the door and scream some more until my throat hurts.
Maddox doesn’t return.
“Argh!” I stomp back into the room and see the bowl of food. I’m not sure if I am hungry, but the last thing I feel like doing is eating.
For all I know, he’s poisoned it.
I sniff the baked salmon and consider eating it for a second—common sense tells me I should eat when I am fed to stay strong and alive—but I don’t do that.
Clearly, I don’t have a strong survival instinct.
Instead, as fury thrashes through me, I bend my arm back and throw it as hard as I can at the door. The china dish crashes and breaks into several pieces.
Now that was satisfying.
I’ve never broken anything like that on purpose before—but it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve made a bunch of little weapons. I launch across the room, but the door comes flying open.
I grasp a piece and clamber to my feet to face my kidnapper. His dark, angry eyes fall to my hand, and I follow his gaze as blood drips onto the floor.
Shit.
I feel the sting as the sharp edge slices into my skin.
“Jesus fuck.” Maddox growls. “Drop it.”
“No!” I cry, taking a step back.
“Drop it!” He launches at me, gripping my hand.
My numb fingers immediately spring open and drop the makeshift weapon.
How did he do that?
If I don’t get out of here soon, he might never let me go.
Why has Pierce never mentioned his son? Nor my mother or father. Is he some psycho with money who plans to skin me alive?
I have no idea.
Maybe he’s not who he says he is.
I erupt.
With my good hand, I slam into his chest and start kicking and spitting at him.
Letting me think I’m getting somewhere, Maddox lets me continue for a long moment, then pushes me back toward the bed where I collapse, and his body follows.
Right.
On.
Top.
Of me.
Panting, I glance up into his silver eyes and the dark lock of hair which flops over his forehead, terrified of what he’s going to do next.
And yet I’m a little excited.
“Well, aren’t you a little spitfire of a surprise,” he rasps, pinning my hands above my head.
“Get off me,” I say, but the fire has gone out of my fight.
For one reason only. His thick, hard cock is pressed against my stomach and neither of us can pretend it’s not. I’m going to need some serious therapy after this. If I get out alive. How can I be so turned on by this man who has threatened my life?
But I am.
The desire to lift my leg to allow his sizable member inside me is almost all I can think of. God, the way his huge body consumes the space above me and makes me feel so...feminine and desirable. I’ve never felt this before.
I want him to touch me more.
To kiss me.
To...fill me.
“Tell me Kyra, has my father fucked you yet? Taken you for a test drive?”
I gasp at his crude question.
The asshole.
I take back everything I just felt.
Then I spit in his face.
Maddox closes his eyes and wipes my saliva onto his shirt-clad broad shoulder. His gaze lands back on me angrily.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He growls.
I can still see the question in his eyes, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of the truth.
“Do this again, sweetheart, and I’ll be wiping your saliva off my cock .”
My mouth falls open and his eyes roam my lips.
I lick them, and he grunts, annoyed with me, then climbs off me. He doesn’t make any attempt to hide his erection as he rearranges himself.
“Don’t read into anything, sweetheart. You’re a beautiful woman. It’s nature. Nothing more.”
I try to sit up and sass him, but wince as my wounded hand presses against the bed.
“Ouch,”
“Fuck's sake.” Maddox reaches down and pulls me off the bed. “Come with me.”
That’s when I get my first glimpse outside my prison cell.
Also...he thinks I’m beautiful.
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MADDOX
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THE LAST THING I need is Kyra to get an infection and then need to call a doctor. Or take her to the hospital.
I misread her.
I knew the fork was a risk, but throwing the entire bowl and creating a prison shard from it is quite ingenious for a woman like her.
I privately scoff.
She probably did some fancy—and useless—personal defense course with a celebrity trainer.
Sure, I was brought up by wealthy parents, but unlike Kyra, I was not treated with kid gloves. I was abused from the moment I can remember and taught to keep my mouth shut. That my friends would be ashamed of me if they knew that I liked to touch my daddy.
The day he said that, it scared me. I didn’t want my friends to know what happened at night in my home.
I was embarrassed.
So, I stayed quiet.
My parents didn’t enroll me in Boy Scouts or baseball or kung fu lessons. I was told to do my homework and do as my father told me.
My spare time was spent sucking old men’s cocks or bending over for them, while my mother drunk herself to death downstairs.
Eventually.
I lead Kyra down the hall to my bathroom where the first-aid kit is located and tell her to sit on the closed toilet seat. She turns her head, peeking through the half-open door leading to my bedroom.
“Is that where you take your prisoners when they’re good?” she asks bitterly.
I snort.
She has a little sass in her, and it just makes her more attractive. Which isn’t good. She will use it as a distraction if I let her.
I won’t.
I have survived strong, evil, and dangerous people. This innocent won’t get a jump on me. In saying that, as I lay on top of her earlier, the desire to rip open her robe and delve my fingers through her pussy was more than overwhelming.
Would she have been wet?
Is she still wet now?
Christ , I need to stay focused.
Kyra is lucky I didn’t act on my desire. There is nothing and no one here to stop me doing as I please with her. Except my deeply sacred morals.
Images of spreading her thighs and tying her up, making her completely and utterly powerless, consumed me in that moment.
God, imagine being able to spend hours touching, licking, and fucking every orifice in her body.
But I won’t.
What I will do is keep an eye on my little prisoner, so it seemed like a smart move to set up cameras. Which was how I’d seen Kyra throwing a tantrum from my big screen in the living room.
That and I could hear her.
The moment she picked up the bowl and I saw the glint in her eye, I strode down the hall. It smashed against the door as I was right outside.
The pretty little idiot.
I grab her hand to clean the wound, and she hisses.
“Well, it’s clear you’re not going to be good.” I rumble, my skin roaring to life as we connect skin on skin. I feel her shudder under my touch and can’t help lifting my eyes.
Fuck me.
Hers are rich with desire.
“Why are you marrying my father?” I ask, focusing back on cleaning her cut hand, forcing my attention away from the chemistry rushing between us like a wild storm.
She’s silent until I glance back. This time, those pretty blue globes are filled with tears.
Anger fills me.
Does she love him?
You must be fucking joking? I assumed this was some kind of arranged situation at best. I mean, the man, my father, is decades older than her.
And a monster.
She can’t actually be emotionally attached to the asshole, can she?
“Don’t answer that.” I growl, tearing open a cleaning swab and wiping it harshly over the wound.
“Ouch!” Kyra cries, pulling back her hand.
“Stay still. Perhaps next time, you’ll think twice before misbehaving.”
“I’m not a child.” She snaps, but her voice still holds hints of the desire I’m trying fucking hard to ignore.
My eyes dart up to hers; anger, arousal, and frustration fight for dominance within me.
“Yes. You. Are.”
Compared to my old man, she is. Kyra could be his granddaughter. At a push.
I grab the bandage and start wrapping her hand.
Is her own father okay with this marriage? What about her mother? Has she just stood back and let her daughter go ahead with this partnership without interfering?
Don’t they want more for her?
It’s none of your business. Just use her and get the job done.
I stand up abruptly.
Kyra scrambles to her feet. “I might be small, but I am an adult. I’m twenty-two.”
Jesus.
I was wrong. There’re over thirty years between them. Kyra Fox has no fucking idea what she is getting herself into. My father is an evil man. The worst kind. I’m not even sure he has a heart. He’d rip her apart with his teeth, spit her out, wait for her to heal, then start it all again.
Ask me how I know.
“Then you’re welcome.” I hiss, tugging her from my bathroom and back down the hall.
She pulls at my arm, but I ignore her.
“Thank you?” she gasps. “Thank you for taking me from my home. My family. My friends?”
I push her through the doorway, and she trips, then catches herself and spins around to face me.
“Yes. And for saving you from a lifetime with a monster.”
I slam the door.
My heart pounds as I stride down to the living room and pour a glass of whisky.
Then a second and third as I toss them, angry with her for being a fool.
Angry with myself for giving a flying fuck.
Because apparently, I do.