Page 45 of Unbreakable Vow

He steps up onto the bed as though it’s no higher than a single step, walks over to my side, and jumps down in front of me. I have to jump back to keep from getting landed on.

In one single motion he has his belt off and has my wrists pinned together in front of me. No amount of fighting him is working.

“You’re making it worse,” he tells me as he drags me back around the bed to the post at the bottom.

“Let me go.” I yank downward, but he’s too strong and the belt is wrapped tightly around my wrists. I’m not getting out of this yet.

He pins me to the bedpost and pulls my wrists over my head. When he steps back, I try to bring my arms down, but I’m stuck.

There’s a hook that’s been painted to blend in with the wood above my head and he’s hung me from it.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it.” He grabs the neckline of my t-shirt and rips it, tearing the entire shirt down the middle.

“Sergei!” I try to shove him away with my foot, but he easily sidesteps my kick.

The toe of his boots touches the tips of my toes as he leans over me. His fingers slip between the elastic of my pants and my stomach.

“I like these pants,” I say in hopes to save them from the same fate as my shirt.

He pulls something from his pocket and brings it up to my nose. A press of a button and a blade shoots out.

A knife.

Will he kill me because I refused to listen to him?

He’ll probably get to keep his inheritance if I’m dead.

“Sergei, don’t.” My plea comes out in a whisper.

The blade of the knife is warm as it presses flat between my breasts. Slowly, he drags it down my torso, making me suck in my stomach when he gets that low.

He turns the knife, so that the tip points downward as he slides it between the elastic of my pants and my body. I hold still, afraid to move for fear of getting cut by the blade as it easily slices through the material.

He moves the weapon to my hip and cuts through the material there as well as the other side. The pants drop down to my ankles.

Picking up the discarded pants with the knife, he holds them in front of me.

“What should I do to my naughty wife who throws things at my head?” He flicks the pants away and taps the flat of the blade against his cheek while he pretends to think.

“I’m sorry I threw it.” I tug harder on my wrists but somehow the binding gets tighter, not looser.

“You’re sorry you missed,” he retorts.

“Was I supposed to be happy you kept that from me? You used my mother against me?” I twist, but all that happens is my wrists start to burn.

He grabs my chin, his fingertips digging into my cheeks, and drags my face to his.

“Your mother is not a weapon to be used against you. Not by me.” His expression is stone hard. I believe him.

“All right.” I stop pulling on my wrists. “I’m sorry about the glass then.”

His eyes soften, but there’s something more sinister lurking in his expression. He’s not going to let me off the hook that easily.

“Now that I have you naked and bound to my bed, what should I do to you?” He lets me go and takes a large step back. His eyes rake over my body like he’s contemplating where to start.

He closes the knife and stuffs it back into his pocket.

“Let me go to sleep because it’s late?” I ask stupidly.

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