Chapter 10
Nika
I don’t flinch, but my insides shrivel at his words.
He’s wrong. I’m nothing like Roman.
The denial comes automatically, reflexively, the same way you’d jerk your hand back from a flame.
Still, the internal insistence rings hollow.
All three of those women ended up traumatized by that island. They grew up and carved out new lives for themselves, at least until I used that shared pain to sow discord and clear the path for my own success.
I treated them like tools. Necessary pieces on the board.
Not people.
But I needed them. I had to use their connections to the island to dredge up my father’s sins and shove them in his face. Drive him to expose his greed.
Roman would say the same thing.
The realization drives a spike into my gut.
Roman probably has said the same thing about every person he’s ever manipulated or destroyed. That his actions were necessary for the greater good of the family, of the empire. Whatever justification lets him sleep at night after stabbing my mother.
No. I’m nothing like him.
Besides, what’s done is done. I can’t go back and make different choices. All I can do is ensure my father pays for his sins. Roman put me on this path. Ultimately, he’s the one at fault and the reason I’m doing this.
None of this would have happened if not for the shit show he started on the island.
So, really, I’m seeking justice for those women as well, even if they’re not aware.
Max must see me wavering, because he tilts forward, just an inch.
Even bound and helpless, he radiates danger. “What’s wrong, Nika? Don’t like facing the truth of your actions?”
The question hits exactly where he meant it to, deep in my conscience.
No, I don’t, but I’ll be damned if I let him know that. I close my eyes and inhale slowly, in through my mouth and out through my nose. Dimitri taught me years ago how to regulate my breathing and focus on my goals.
When I open my eyes, the hesitation’s gone. I’m in control of every piece of me, my mind impenetrable.
The bastard’s still smirking and rotating his fists like he wants to punch me.
There’s something appealing about the sight of Mad Max tied to a chair and basically stripped to the waist.
Pure masculine power, on display and rendered temporarily harmless.
Except he’s not.
At least, that’s what his arctic blue eyes tell me. They’re icy and calculating, as if he thinks he’s still menacing. Still capable of destroying me if I give him the slightest opportunity.
I read more than just the threat in his gaze.
He’s leering, even if unintentionally. I’m certain he can’t help himself and that he hates it as much as I do.
His body’s betraying him just like mine did in the ballroom, when his hands settled on me and I couldn’t control the way I responded. The predicament drove me mad. Compelled me to confess more than I wanted.
An idea starts to form. I can do to him what he did to me.
“I may not like that, but I do like what I see.” I trail my fingertips over his arm as I walk around him, then I bend down.
Like a magnet, he shifts to get closer, gravitating toward my touch.
Lifting one leg, I straddle him, hanging my calves off the back of the chair. “Do you?”
He stiffens—in more ways than one—as I lower myself onto him. His lips form a tight line, and he leans away now that I’ve demonstrated how easy he is to control. Taking my time, I flip my dress out of the way, draping the garment over the chair and his legs.
“Poor Mad Max.” The nickname rolls off my tongue, mocking and victorious in one. “All tied up…”
I settle onto his lap, wiggling until I’m comfortable, even though he’s pressed against my groin. The contact energizes me, nearly disrupting my plan. At least I can stop at any time. He can only sit here and accept what I give him.
He can’t move or touch. Can’t do anything while I position myself exactly where I want to be.
His thighs are so unbelievably hard under my ass. Each time he shifts, they flex beneath me like mini roller coasters. That’s nothing compared to the small, hot twitches of his cock against my underwear. Is he doing that on purpose?
Surely a man can’t twitch like that intentionally.
Maybe it’s involuntary. I shift forward, then back, eliciting a drawn-out grunt from him as I try to get comfortable.
I ignore the desire that floods through me, as well as the way my body responds to his heat with my own. Every muscle in my core aches to grind down against him, wants more of that hardness. That dangerous edge that’s aligned just right between my legs.
My head spins, dizzy with lust and power. I’ve never been in this sort of situation. I’ve never touched a man except to fight, and I’ve certainly never felt a rigid dick against my body.
He feels nothing like my fingers. This fire burns so much hotter, so much deeper, causing me to throb in places I didn’t know I could.
I want…
No.
This isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I need. I have to show him I’m in control. I’m the one with the power.
“It must make you angry, hmm?” I bring my face to his. “Being so very impotent.”
I choose the words deliberately, intending to emasculate, to wound, to let him know just how helpless he is.
Even so, I can practically taste the lie on my lips. Because he’s not impotent. Not even close.
That twitching line becomes more erect.
Resting my hands on his chest, I feel his heart thumping against my palm, the muscles in his cheek contracting as he clenches his jaw.
We’re both trapped, caught in this detestable but unstoppable current coursing between us.
I grip his chin, my fingers pressing into the sharp angle of his jaw as I force him to meet my eyes. “Where. Is. My. Locket?”