Page 8 of Pure Vengeance

“What to do with you?” His gaze lazily wanders over my face, stopping a moment at my mouth, before returning to my eyes. “I should kill you for taking that fucking shot.”

I stiffen, feeling the world closing in on me.

“If you want to live, you probably should.” I barely manage to get the words past my lips.

His grin suggests I’m not the danger to him I want to be.

“Well then.” He twists his hand harder in my hair, pulling at the roots. Tears sting my eyes before slipping from the corners and sliding down my cheeks.

“I’m not going to kill you.” He drags his tongue over my cheek, licking away my tears. “At least not yet.”

Pressing my hands to his chest, I shove, but I’d have more luck moving Mt. Rushmore. The man is nothing but muscle.

“I am going to punish the hell out of you though.” Little creases form on the sides of his mouth as he smiles. The tiny grins he’s given me so far weren’t genuine. This though. This smile is filled with pleasure.

“Punish me?” I swallow, in his world that could mean so many things and most of them probably worse than death.

“Yes.”

“No.” I struggle against him, but his lips spread further apart. There’s a spark in his eyes.

“What is a fitting punishment for an attempted murder?” He lifts his knee, pressing into my sex.

Holy fuck, that feels good.

I clench my teeth before I actually say the words out loud, but his face tells me I don’t have to speak.

He knows.

“Should I give you to my men? Let them have a fun night with you?” His free hand rests on the collar of my neckline. “I can strip you and leave you here. They’ll line up outside, take their turns. At least Vincent. You hurt him, you know. With your nails.” He works the first button of the dress open, then moves to the second.

“He was kidnapping me.” I wince when he tugs on my hair again.

“You tried to kill me,” he reminds me.

“You killed my brother,” I remind him.

His eyes darken.

In a heartbeat, he pulls back, spins me around and has me pinned face first against the wall. My hands scramble up the wall, trying desperately to shove away.

The skirts of my dress are raised up over my hips, until only panty-clad ass is showing.

“No!” I fight harder.

“White cotton panties.” He huffs. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Please. Just…no.” My arms ache from trying to get away and it’s for nothing.

Easily, he pulls my head back until he’s able to see into my eyes again.

“Hold your dress up, I don’t want it in my way.” He gives the order in a flat tone, like he’s ordering an egg omelet for breakfast.

“Why?”

His brow snaps together.

“Because I’m going to whip your ass, and I don’t want all that material in the way, so either you hold it up or I rip this fucking dress off.”

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