7
I’m roused from slumber by something cold and hard tracing my sore jawline. Suddenly alert, I scramble back against the headboard, clutching the comforter to my chin to find the wicked witch of the west grinning at me with her dagger in her hand.
Fuck! That’s the second time she’s gotten into the room without me hearing her. What is wrong with me?
“Where’s the pakhan?” My gaze slides to the door as if I might find him standing there watching me in my sleep. Which would be even more psychotic than the crazy woman with a teardrop tattooed underneath her eye.
“He’s waiting for you.”
He is?
“Well, tell him he can wait a bit longer. I’m not a morning person, especially when I’m woken up at knifepoint.”
Is that a hint of a smile on her lips?
It vanishes almost immediately, and before I can react, she grips my wrist in her iron fist and drags me off the bed and onto my feet. The dagger is back. I can feel the tip drawing blood from my neck just below my jawline.
“This is what knifepoint feels like.” Her breath is warm on my cheek. “But be warned, I am not a morning person either and I’ve not had any caffeine yet today.”
I hold her gaze. My brother Daniel made me promise when I was a little kid never to look away first. We would have staring competitions until our eyes watered, and I always won, so I’m confident that the witch will tire of this game before I do.
Besides, she just told me that it’s morning, and that her boss is ready for me. “I need to use the restroom first. I’d hate to disappoint him at our first meeting.”
Her eyes drift to the white dress still folded neatly on the end of the bed, and I mentally fist-punch the air. Yay! She looked away first. Gianna one, witch zero.
“Get dressed.”
“I was dressed, but I took it off when your boss stood me up. I don’t normally give a guy a second chance, so he should think himself lucky that—”
I don’t get to finish the sentence. She slaps my cheek with her hand, and man, does it sting. Hot tears prickle behind my eyes, and I force myself not to blink. I refuse to give her the satisfaction.
“You have one minute. If you are not dressed, I will drag you up the stairs naked, and then we will see what Pakhan thinks of his latest asset.”
She releases me and stands by the door watching me closely while I step out of my clothes and into the white dress. My brain cells are reeling. While I would love to plot my revenge against the witch for daring to touch me, this will have to wait.
She called me an asset.
So, what, her boss thinks that he can keep me here indefinitely like some kind of plaything or a new car?
My father will have something to say about that.
I try to console myself that my family will rescue me any time now, but I’ve already spent at least one night in this basement, and here I am dressing for breakfast with the enemy because someone needs her morning coffee.
“Ready.” I stand facing her while her eyes roam me up and down.
“Follow me.”
She turns on her Doc Marten heels and opens the door.
I don’t need to be told twice. I follow her out of the room and into a dingy corridor where the ceiling lights give off a sickly yellow glow.
We pass several other doors that, thankfully, remain firmly closed.
All I need now is to peer inside one of the boss’s dungeon rooms and find him getting his ass spanked by a dominatrix with a paddle.
Through a door at the end of the corridor, and we climb a spiral staircase.
The air gets warmer the higher we climb, and I swear that I can already taste the sweet smell of wet grass and sunshine even though there’s still no sign of a window.
Then another corridor. This one has plush ivory carpets on the floor—who in their right mind has ivory carpets?
—and creamy, silk-covered walls. No kids in this house, that’s for sure.
There are no pictures on the walls. Nothing that will give me a hint about who my captor really is. Then, the witch enters a room and stands aside, waiting for me to follow her. I guess this is it.
Deep breath.
I find myself in an enormous dining room.
A huge, polished table is in the center of the room, but my eyes are instinctively drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows draped in sheer voile and the daylight streaming through them.
Like a dehydrated nomad in the desert, I stare at the rays of sunshine and fill my lungs with air, and that shot of vitamin D is better than caffeine any day.
Someone clears their throat, and I’m jolted back to the moment.
A man in an expensive dark suit is seated at the far end of the dining table.
His jet-black hair is slicked back highlighting angular cheekbones, a strong jawline, and amber eyes.
He wears a platinum wristwatch, and I’d bet every cent in my bank account that his shoes are so shiny I could see my reflection in them.
Everything about him screams money loud and clear, and I’ve grown up around wealth. But this…