Page 43 of Black Heart

He turns back to me, his expression hardening. "I won't let that happen again. No matter how much you fight me."

I believe him. God help me, but I do. There's a conviction in his voice, an impenetrable determination that brooks no argument. He will protect me, even from myself.

But at what cost?

As if reading my thoughts, the Scythe crouches down once more, bringing us eye to eye.

"You're not my prisoner, Layla."

"What am I, then?"

His lips quirk. "That's what we're going to find out."

This is a man who only refers to himself as the Scythe. If not unhinged, then he’s definitely unstable. He just happily supervised an assassin threatening to rape and murder me,then killed him in front of me. Now he’s telling me I will only be able to survive if I stay by his side.

And I’m still tied to a chair.

“Untie me.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

The Scythe takes his time studying my face. It’s a survey that makes me shatter, like he’s trying to reach too far inside me to get his answers.

He says, “Normally after witnessing what you just did, a person would easily do as I say.”

I shake my head tiredly, adrenaline evaporating as fast as the alcohol did. “You’ve made it clear that no matter what I say or do, you’re going to prove your point, anyway.”

“You needed to see what these men want to do to you if they catch you.”

“I don’t need lessons in murder.”

I say it harshly, my voice ragged and emotional. It hasn’t hit me yet—that there’s a dead man a few feet away from me. And that staying late at work one unlucky night caused a killer to take the wheel of my life.

“Then consider it a wake-up call,” he bites out. “Because soon, more than one man will be sent. A group of them will. How do you think you’ll fare then?”

I don’t realize he’s grabbed me by the hair until my head’s yanked back, my scalp stinging from how hard he commands my attention.

My stomach lurches under his gaze, but I keep my expression schooled, staring into the power burning in his eyes.

“You’re mine. Must I prove that to you as well?” he asks, his stare morphing into something untamed.

"I'm not yours," I spit, jerking my head back. A clump of hair tears free in his fist. "You're insane."

The Scythe's expression crystallizes into exactly what everyone, even fellow assassins, are terrified of. “You still don’t understand the danger you’re in.”

“I understand plenty.” My voice shakes. “You murdered a man in front of me. You tied me to a chair. You're threatening me.”

He shakes his head. "I'm trying to save your life."

"By terrorizing me?"

“Yes. Because sometimes terror is the only teacher that works.”

As he straightens, I notice the bulge in his pants and how it strains the fabric every time he moves. Under my nervous study, he pulls at the zipper, his dick springing out as if released from prison.

With my head back in his vise-like grip, he pushes his hips, rubbing the tip against my clenched mouth.

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