Page 52 of Call You Mine

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he taunted, slowly creeping through the hallway toward my bedroom. His feet dragged along the hardwood floor, the heels of his boots clicking as they approached my door. Like nails on a chalkboard his fingers screeched along the walls of the hallway, warning me of what was to come. “You can run but you can’t escape me, Snow. I own you carina. Every inch of your marvelous body, every part of your sad and pathetic little mind.”

My blood ran cold in fear at the sound of his voice. It was different this time. No sign of the dark humor which laced his playful warnings. No, this time he sounded cold, worse than that, there was an eerie emptiness to his tone. Monotone and dark. Enzo was never this volatile toward me. He never lashed out without reason. It was usually because I pushed, or in his mind did something that warranted a punishment such as refusing to play his twisted little games. The one silver lining inall of this was the fact that Enzo never laid a hand on me. Not sexually, not by force. But tonight felt different.

The look in his eyes when he’d arrived back from the casino, haunted yet held an aura of danger beneath the dark brown that outlined his irises, was terrifying. They were lifeless. Devoid of any kind of emotion. Something happened tonight which made him so cruel and unforgiving.

He demanded all the house staff leave, practically throwing them out the door himself. Fear crippled me at the thought I was alone with him, a monster who showed no mercy to those who’d wronged him. What had I done to receive his wrath tonight?

My mind reeled, teetering off the edge of madness as I tried and failed to come up with anything I could have possibly done. I obeyed him, it’d been months since I tried to push back and taunt him with my disobedience, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight would change everything.

I’m startled awake, my last night in New York replaying in my mind like an old horror film. The kind that is so gruesome and cruel yet you can't look away. Like a fatal car wreck you pass on the highway and although you know it will scar you, forcing you to never get behind the wheel again, you look anyway as you slowly drive by.

My hands are shaking vigorously when I remember the package delivered on Damon’s doorstep two weeks ago. The note, neatly folded and placed inside the box, which made the whole thing more terrifying. Because the blood smeared on the white piece of parchment wasn’t the blood of the poor little bird who lay lifeless inside. Because the bird wasn’t bleeding. Its neck had been snapped, but there wasn’t a drop of blood on it. No, the blood had to be his.

There were only two explanations for the texts, the packages, the taunting. Either Enzo was alive and tormenting me, or he was indeed dead and someone had discovered what I’d done.

Both theories are terrifying, the latter least likely since they were pretending to be Enzo and had made no threats, so blackmail was out of the question. Maybe Enzo had somehow survived the attack—although not likely—and was torturing me, making me sweat before showing up to enact his revenge. The thing is, out of these two scenarios, I’m not sure which is worse.

They are both equally horrifying and keep me up at night, forcing me to look over my shoulder whenever I leave the house. I can’t sit here and contemplate the what if’s? I can’t live in fear of what might come next although it’s all I think about. That isn’t living at all. No, I need to go on with my life, face one monster at a time. One of those being Willa herself, who hasn’t stopped texting me since the day we walked out on her at the restaurant. The day Damon told her to fall off the face of the earth and never come looking for us.

Sad to say she didn’t heed his warning. I never thought she would although she looked utterly terrified. But before I even think about dealing with my mother—who is surely going to keep digging until she finds a flaw in Damon and I’s relationship and then force me to comply with her demands—I need to fix things with him. At this point he won’t even look at me.

I need to make things right between us, and even though he’s clarified that the only way to do so is by being honest and truthful about why I’m back—why I’m being so jumpy and secretive—I won’t do things his way.

I’ll fix this the only way I know how. By making it impossibly difficult for him to stay away from me. He wants me, it’s the one thing I’m certain of. I just need to get the man to break, and I know just the thing to do so.

He’s heldon to his word for two weeks. Three weeks of watching him from across the dinner table as we dined in the city three out of seven nights a week and played the part of doting couple.

Regardless of his cold and hurtful attitude that day when he deposited me back at the house and drove away, only to come back home hours later at dawn, smelling way too much like liquor and smoke, I sent him more photos. I even went as far as printing them out and hiding them all around the house in places I knew he’d find them, and yet nothing.

The man has the restraint of a fucking saint. That or he isn’t interested, which he admitted but I refuse to believe. His actions speak louder than his words, and the look in his eyes as they roam over every inch of skin on display in the provocative dresses I’ve worn since, in a ploy to seduce him, tells a different story.

Enough is enough. I have a game plan and it’s time to set it in motion. There’s no turning back now. I am determined to make the man mine, and to force his hand in claiming mine. My body, my mind, every part of my being belongs to him and it’s about time to make him aware.

Ten, sixteen by twenty-four-inch frames are perfectly hung up on the dark gray walls of his bedroom. Ten black and white photos of me from that day at Kara’s studio with only one goal—to seduce him, entice him, and make his resolve crack. There’s no way Damon can ignore them now. Especially not when I’m in his bedroom, wearing the exact set of white lace lingerie I have on in the photos. The one I’m sure he’s dreamt about since the first time he saw it.

The man isn’t as sly as he thinks. I’ve caught the carnal glances my way when he thinks I’m not paying attention. The way his jaw ticks when I lean in close, when he inhales the scent of my perfume. The way he clears his throat when I bend a certain way, giving him a glimpse of skin I know he wants to taste, or how he adjusts himself when I coyly parade around in a satin negligee I disguise as pajamas.

Sitting in the middle of his bed, I lean back on my elbows, positioning myself against the pillows. I pull my legs back, bending one of my knees in a ninety-degree angle, high enough to show him a small glimpse of ass, but keeping enough hidden to entice him.

I wait, anxiously counting the minutes for him to come home, gripping the satin sheets under my fingertips as the bedside clock ticks, taunting me with what’s coming. I texted Damon earlier today asking what time he was planning on coming home. We’re supposed to go to some dinner he has scheduled with an investor, and apparently having me on his arm will be beneficial to the deal he’s trying to make.

The deal to make him a majority owner of Kingsman Enterprises.

After nearly thirty minutes of waiting, thirty minutes after the allotted time he was supposed to arrive, I hear the front door alarm. The anticipation sends a wave of shivers up my spine.

It’s time.

This can go one of two ways. Damon either finally gives in to his desires, or shamelessly sends me to my room for even suggesting what I have in store. I’m not sure what I’ll do if he rejects me once more.

Footsteps echo right outside the bedroom door before completely disappearing. Silence drums in my ears, except the hum of my heartbeat thrumming. He’s coming in three, two, one.

I take a sharp inhale and hold it, suddenly deathly afraid of what his reaction will be.

The door handle turns, the wood creaking open as Damon appears underneath the doorway before stepping inside. Bold green eyes immediately connect with mine before they drop low, roaming over my body laid out for him to admire.

To devour, to indulge in.

His eyes wander around the room, taking in the large framed photos of me in many sensual positions. On my knees, on all fours, lying back on the bed with my legs hung open, sitting back against my feet with my head thrown back.

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