Page 19 of Violent Delights

Chapter 13

Liana

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, my voice muffled by my hands as I hide my face behind them. I am so utterly ashamed, stripped of any pride as I sit on the toilet. His eyes remain trained on me as I relieve myself.

This is so humiliating, even worse than the time I was dumb enough to volunteer to perform a solo while singing for the chorus in high school. I forgot the lyrics in the middle of the song and made a gigantic fool of myself in front of the entire school, but right now, it feels like such a mundane thing. This is worse by far.

Of course, he doesn’t answer my question. I try to forget that he’s even there, and finish without ever lifting my eyes to look at him. Even when I walk over to the arguably fancy sink to wash my hands, I don’t glance at him.

Regardless of the situation, I can’t help but notice how lavish all of this is. If this hadn’t been such an excruciatingly horrid experience, I could relish in the beauty of this luxurious bathroom. The light marble tiles feel warm beneath my frozen feet, and the golden fixtures on the sink appear to be made of real gold, not just painted over. There’s a glass-enclosed shower cabin that is easily big enough for two people. The same goes for the jacuzzi tub right next to it.

Whoever this man is, he’s not your ordinary psychopath, but a filthy rich one.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he asks, pulling me away from my stream of thoughts.

Yes, my mind cries. Yes, I want nothing more than to get rid of these uncomfortable clothes and wash away the horror of last night.

But what I want even more than that is for him to let me go.

“I want to go home,” I say, standing before him with my arms crossed in front of my chest. As humiliating as the last few minutes were, the relief I feel now empowers me with a strength that I thought I had lost forever when I was caged up in that attic. I am still wearing the red coat over my business outfit. More and more, this hideous piece of clothing begins to feel like armor. This coat kept me warm, it provided the least bit of comfort I was allowed, and now I feel as if it has the power to protect me against him.

He narrows his eyes.

“You’re not going home, and you know that,” he says. “You’re mine now.”

He keeps repeating himself without ever giving me a clear reply. Maybe he’s a politician and used to giving responses without ever answering a question.

Well, two can play at that game.

“I want to go home,” I repeat. “I want you to let me go.”

He sighs and shakes his head, worrying me as he takes a step toward me. I move away from him on instinct, but he doesn’t let me gain any distance between us. His hand darts forward, catching hold of the ring attached to my collar. He pulls on it, so that I’m forced to lean forward, drawing me closer to him. He pulls me up and even closer, wrapping his other arm around me and pressing my body against his, while I choke against the strain he forces on my throat.

Fuck, he’s strong. And so freaking gorgeous. How can a monster like him look like this? Like a goddamn Adonis. If I’d ever run into him on the street, I’d be intimidated by his handsome looks to no end. Just based on his looks, he’s the kind of man who makes me weak in the knees.

Sadly, he’s also the kind of man who drugged, kidnapped, and locked me up in a cold attic for an entire night.

“If you say that one more time,” he hisses. “You’ll go back in the cell, and this time, I won’t let you out for a little potty time. Do you understand?”

I respond with an ached groan because he’s pulling the collar with such force that it robs me of my voice. He realizes that, releasing his grasp a little so I can give him the answer he is waiting for.

The only answer that will not end in me going back into that horrible attic.

“Yes, Master,” I say between gritted teeth.

“Now, let’s try this again,” he whispers. His tone has changed and is surprisingly soft in comparison to before. “I’m offering you something very nice here. Only a very bad girl would refuse such a generous offer. And what do bad girls get?”

“Punishment,” I hiss.

I hate the way he’s speaking to me. As if I was a dumb child.

“That’s right,” he says, smiling at me. I want to spit in his goddamn handsome face. The contrast between his physical attractiveness and the monster that possesses his soul is driving me mad.

“And what do good girls get?” he wants to know.

I hesitate, because I don’t know the exact word he’s looking for, and if I’ve learned anything from the short time we’ve spent together, it’s that saying the right thing is of utmost importance with him.

“Treats?” I try, sighing with relief when I see him nodding.

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