Page 12 of Hearts Of Darkness

“Two seconds.”

I grit my teeth as she brushes the dust from her father’s hair and presses her lips to his forehead. I see the tears glistening in her eyes when she turns back to me.

“Okay, I’m ready…I think.”

Think?

They’ll be no such indecision when my head is between her thighs, and she’s begging me to let her come.

This woman is a walking contradiction. She’s all fire and defiance one minute and then trembling with fear the next. She wants to hate me, but…

“This way,” I say, pushing her toward the door when there’s a loud crash in the hallway outside.

The partition wall starts to disintegrate. I pitch sideways, my arms closing in around her again as the floor comes rushing up fast.

I hear her scream and then silence.

5

EVE

There’s a soft breeze blowing against my cheek, but my insentience keeps me locked in a dreamscape. It’s a mosaic of pictures and sensations, of billowing white linen drapes, heavy dark eyes, the soothing sound of waves breaking on a distant beach and warm sunshine.

My eyes flicker and then open. Right away these images shift to form my new reality. It’s nighttime. I’m lying in a large, ornate four-poster bed that’s been carved from some dark exotic wood, the air is thick with an evening humidity that is unfamiliar to me, and the white linen drapes are mosquito nets drawn tight around my opulent cage.

And those eyes?

My gaze shifts upward. He’s sitting in a leather chair next to the bed, with his large hands clasped together in front of him. He’s watching me, and not even the lightness of the net can dullthe burning heat of his gaze.

Instinctively, I pull the bedsheets closer. The expensive cotton is cool against my skin, but something’s wrong. I shouldn’t be feeling this sensation oneveryintimate part my body…

Oh my God, he’s removed my clothes. I’m not even wearing panties. I pull the sheet even tighter as my heart explodes with fear. I’m aware of a faint ache in my forehead, and the left side of my face is tender and bruised.

Where am I?

I jump at the sharp sound of wood scraping against the ceramic tiles. He rises from the chair and approaches the bed. His huge body seems otherworldly behind the gauze. He’s not wearing black anymore. That much I can tell. The devil has chosen blue denim jeans and a white tee to torment me with today.

“What happened?” I croak. “The hospital…”

“You’re safe now.”

With him? Never.

“Where are my clothes?”

There’s a pause. “You won’t be needing them tonight.”

The breath catches in my throat. His words need no explanation. He means to fuck me, whether I consent to it or not.

He draws the net to one side and stands there, looking down at me. The evening humidity has gifted a soft sheen to his olive skin, accentuating the thick muscles in his forearms. His dark hair is slightly damp and slicked back, and a generous shadow of stubble grazes that powerful jaw and the sharp contours of his face.

Glancing down, I see the silhouette of definition beneath his T-shirt. That’s when I recall a bargaining—some sort of hasty exchange—back in the hospital room.

My father’s life for my body.

Is this why I’m here? To whore myself out to him in the hope that he’ll honor our agreement? Is there any proof that my parents even survived?

To my horror, he starts to undress, starting with his white T-shirt. The material is carelessly dropped to the floor, and I’m left to appreciate an upper body that is carved from golden stone. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, a trail of coarse black hair all the way from his chest down through his rock-hard abdomen, and finally disappearing beneath his belt buckle. I swallow quickly. I never knew such physical perfection existed. Perhaps a black heart is the price you pay for such flawless masculinity?

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