Chapter Seven — Jamie
He slapped me. Fast. Brutal. His whole hand to my face.
My head snapped to the side, skin burning like I'd been branded. The crack of his palm echoed in my ears, and the world blurred at the edges as my ass hit the floor.
The box cutter skittered out of my hand and spun across the tile.
I blinked up at him, stunned. The indifference on his face surprised me. He didn't seem like the type to hit a woman. Everything about him—the way he moved, the way he spoke, hell, even the way he fucking breathed—screamed control. Like a man who didn't dirty his hands unless absolutely necessary.
I thought he was soft. That was my first mistake.
And the last time I'd underestimate him.
Instinct kicked in. I scrambled back, bare ass sliding across the floor, heels digging into the tile—but there was nowhere to go. He loomed over me, his shadow swallowing me whole. His glare wasn't just angry—it was calculating.
He grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me up like I weighed nothing. My back hit the wall hard enough to rattle my teeth and knock the breath from my lungs.
His body caged mine, chest to chest, his heat searing my naked skin. Our lips brushed with every ragged breath. I froze. A sliver of fear crept up my spine. I didn't struggle though. I knew when I'd been bested.
His palm flattened beside my head, the other gripping my jaw tight enough to bring tears to my eyes.
"Don't mistake my kindness for weakness." His thumb traced the welt rising on my cheek. "Next time you pull a weapon on me, you'd better use it."
I should've been begging or crying or clawing at his grip. But I wasn't.
Something twisted hot and slow in my belly. My pulse kicked up.
He was less appealing soft. This version? Raw, vicious, brutal? I squeezed my thighs together, trying—and failing—to mute the ache blooming between them.
I couldn't help it. Something deep down in me liked the way he was manhandling me. Maybe I liked monsters more than I wanted to admit.
I ran my tongue over my teeth instead of tracing his mouth with it like I wanted to.
"Don't do that again," he warned, like he expected obedience to come as natural as breathing.
I didn't do obedience. But I could fake it if it got me what I needed.
I sucked in a trembling breath. Shifted tactics. Let my bottom lip tremble. Made my breathing go shallow, like a scared little bird. The tears came easy—I'd practiced them in mirrors for years. Played at being fragile—crying like I hadn't been trained for the same wars he had.
I knew now that playing up the resemblance to his dead wife wasn't enough. I needed to become like her. Soft. Breakable. A woman who needed protection. I needed him to think this was desperation, not survival.
His face changed for a second. A flicker of guilt. A crack in the armor.
Got him.
But it vanished just as fast. He saw through it. I could tell by the way his jaw tightened. But he didn't call me out. He just grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the bedroom.
This was going to be harder than I thought.
His steps were heavy. He threw me onto the bed. The mattress bounced beneath my weight.
I let my legs fall open—just enough to show my pretty brown pussy. Just to tempt. If I could make him lose control, even for a second, I could turn this around.
His eyes didn't drop. Didn't linger. He kept them locked on mine as he grabbed the cuffs from the nightstand.
The metal clicked cold around my wrists before he chained me back to the bed like a fucking dog.
"I'll be back," he muttered, turning toward the door.
Panic clawed up my throat.
"Where are you going?" I jerked upright, chains rattling. "Don't leave me here!"
He didn't answer. Didn't look back.
The lock turned. The door shut.
And I was alone.
I stopped pulling at the cuffs. Took a breath. Closed my legs.
Alright, Jamie. Think.
You've gotten out of worse.
Probably.
Fuck.
If he told Virginia, I wasn't dead.
That power-hungry, pussy-eating bitch would sell me back to my father faster than I could blink. There was still a five-million-dollar bounty on my head—my father put it there. Virginia would collect it. That woman loved money more than her own reflection.
My teeth ground together. Rage burned through my fear. This was bad. I couldn't go back to Maryland.
My father had been trying to auction me off since I was sixteen. His only daughter. His biggest disappointment. He hated me because I wasn't some worthless son he could mold into an heir. To him, I was just a bargaining chip. A pretty little pawn.
If I went back, he'd lock me up. Stuff me in a gilded cage and throw away the key until he found some rich bastard to sell me to.
No. I wouldn't go back.
But how the fuck was I getting out of this?
I was naked. Handcuffed. No weapons. No allies.
And the man who'd taken me?
He wasn't like the others.
Tears wouldn't work. Neither would a smile. I couldn't offer my body and expect him to fold.
He was different.
Dangerous to someone like me.
I had no idea how to play him.
But I'd figure it out.
Because if I didn't?
I'd end up married off to some crime boss—or dead.