Page 17 of Shackled

“No bugs,” he says, with a satisfied nod. “Now let’s get to the good part.”

My heart thumps madly. I’m instantly wet. I must be insane.

This might not work out so well for me. Or him, really.

I swallow hard and toss my head as if scoffing at his threat. If he sees right through me, he doesn’t let on.

“Come here.”

I’m restrained and stuck in place as if someone’s flicked a switch and frozen me. With a scowl, he spins me around and claps his hand across my ass. Under normal circumstances, that’d turn me on, but it only serves to unfreeze me. I yelp and hop to, walking over to where he instructs me to go.

The cable system looms in front of me. It might as well be the stocks or a medieval torture device under these circumstances. The cold, metallic glint of the pulleys and weights reflects the harsh light of the basement, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

What time is it? It’s got to be the middle of the night, maybe even into the wee hours of the morning. I’m tired and hungry and in pain, but I will not break.

I will not.

When I cast a glance at him, his dark eyes are unreadable. The weight of our situation presses down on me. At any moment, he could end my life, but then where does that leave him? The irony is that the only thing keeping me safe is my identity… which is also my greatest condemnation.

The tension in the air is palpable. I shiver, not from the cold, but from not knowing what’s coming next. He doesn’t seem tired like I am at all but energized and almost excited. I mean, he’s got a naked woman at his mercy. I don’t really blame him.

“Enjoy the view?” I ask, somehow managing to keep my tone light and not betraying the fear that thrums through my veins with a life of its own.

“You seem to be enjoying the attention,” he says smoothly.

I roll my eyes, trying to mask my growing terror. “Well, it’s not every day I get such an audience for my workout routine.”

His low, dark chuckle makes my frayed nerves quiver. “This is no workout routine, Isabella.”

I give a mock gasp. “No,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are you going to make me confess my addiction to sweets and my appalling lack of cardio?”

A hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. “It’s more your extracurricular activities that interest me.”

I toss my hair, but he’s got me in a tight grip. With deft moves, he lifts both of my wrists over my head. I crane my neck to see what he’s doing but can’t really get a good view. I don’t need to, though, as the next moment, my wrists are pulled into restraints.

Uh-oh.

Here we goooooo.

“I’m just trying to learn everything I can about you, of course. You intrigue me.”

He snorts. “Right.”

“Go ahead, Lev. Give me your best,” I challenge, dropping the teasing lilt of my voice. “Whips and intimidation tactics won’t break me. And honestly, I’m not scared of you.”

“Good,” he responds. “Fear makes people weak. I prefer my women strong.”

His women. Why does a sudden need to know exactly who his women have been grip me? He’s nothing to me. I don’t care.

I’m not jealous. God.

He pulls a lever, and I stifle a gasp when my wrists are lifted above my head so high I’m on my tiptoes. He has complete access to my naked body.

And something tells me he’s going to use that to his full advantage. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for something. Anything. But when long minutes pass, I finally venture to open an eye.

He’s standing in front of me, his face unreadable as he looks at his handiwork. When he meets my gaze, he doesn’t speak, but something warm and delicious unfurls in my belly.

It could work, my instincts purr. We could conquer everything together. If only I could get him to come to me, to bow just the tiniest bit, I could have this man eating out of the palm of my hand. I want him. I want us.

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