Page 124 of Captive Souls

That only served to motivate me in my mission even more. Kill one of the most dangerous men I’d ever encountered when I didn’t even believe in killing or eating animals. Though I was a vegetarian, appalled at even the thought of helpless animalblood, the blood of men, on the other hand… I could admit I was a little thirsty for it.

I’d spent hours in that room, thinking, stewing. Gazing upon the beautiful vista yet seeing nothing but the woods of Appalachia. I’d spent my hours there, combing over every memory I made with Knox, using it to fortify myself, to build me up.

When the hand on the clock read five minutes to six, I went to my door. I’d been expecting someone to come to escort me, but no one came, and nobody was waiting outside when I opened the unlocked door. I peered down the long hallway. Sense of direction wasn’t my strong suit when it came to mansions. I knew my way around Manhattan and the woods of Appalachia, but not there.

My stomach turned at the memory of a cabin thousands of miles away, half a world away, forgotten by anyone but me and Knox.

With great effort, I pushed him out of my mind, turning left from the bedroom then walking in the general direction I’d come from. Because I wasn’t practiced at being an assassin—if that’s what I was—I hadn’t taken in the layout of this huge house beyond appreciating the Mediterranean furnishings. Rookie mistake.

After a few wrong turns, I found myself in an opulent dining room complete with oil paintings and an outrageously-long table that could’ve comfortably sat twelve people.

The room was bathed in soft candlelight, and the figure sitting at the end of the table was an imposing shadow, coming into focus once I’d traversed the length of the table, doing my best not to limp. I made a mental note to give Elizabeth a tongue lashing for her choice in footwear for my task.

That was if I survived it.

“Piper, you found the dining room.” Stone’s smile was warm as he stood to pull out my chair. He glanced at his watch. “Two minutes late, but we’ll address that later.” Cold promise threaded into his tone, and I restrained a shudder.

I wondered if it was a game. All of it. Leaving me in the room without guards, letting me roam about freely. If this was something he did on the regular, a hobby for the man who didn’t like golf—terrorizing women. It made sense. It was a pastime enjoyed by powerful men for centuries.

Despite my hatred for the man, I kept my expression docile, let him pull out the chair, didn’t squirm when he brushed hair from the nape of my neck and inhaled.

There was a wine glass in front of me, full of amber liquid, and a tall water glass beside it.

“I have come to understand my mistake when I served you wine during our last dinner,” Stone said, taking his own seat. “Rest assured, this is nonalcoholic wine.” He scrunched up his nose. “It does go against my very nature that such a thing exists, but we make sacrifices, don’t we?”

I again did my best not to scowl at him and hurl the nonalcoholic wine in his face.

“Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word.” I picked up the water glass when I realized I hadn’t had a sip of water in hours.

Because of that, I drank greedily and had already taken a large gulp before the burn hit my throat, and I realized it was not water.

I choked the vodka back into the glass, the liquid spilling all over the napkin in front of me and my hands.

Stone had been watching me carefully, hands clasped in front of him. “I suspected you wouldn’t take me at my word,” he shook his head. “Rest assured, Piper, there will be consequences if you don’t trust me in the future.”

I coughed, desperate to get the taste from my mouth, yet unable to find anything at the table for me to wash away the vile taste. Except the wine that Stone assured me wasn’t alcoholic.

My body revolted, reviling the warmth from the small amount of vodka that made it into my system.

I looked at Stone, horrified at the realization of what he had done to me. Just the beginning of the tortures a life with him promised. A bitter taste of my future.

“It’s good for me to gauge how much control you have over your addiction,” he said genially, reaching over to mop the rest of my mess with his own napkin.

“It would’ve served me well to have a wife who fell apart if she happened to be exposed to a bit of wine every now and then,” he continued, belittling my addiction with a handful of words. “I’m sure you’ll taste it on me often enough.” I barely suppressed a shudder at the glint in his eye when he said that.

I was still gaping at him, offended and electrified with fury at this man.

Unbidden, I thought of how instantly Knox swore off alcohol the second he understood my addiction. He didn’t want to cause me even a second of discomfort, didn’t want to consume something that almost destroyed me. Yet Stone delighted in the taste of it on his lips, on forcing it onto mine.

My heart pulsed with pain.

Stone lifted his hand, clicking his fingers. I jumped when the doors opened, and a well-dressed man appeared, holding two steaming plates.

“Giovanni, would you mind getting my betrothed some water and fresh napkins?” he kindly asked as the man—Giovanni, I guessed—nodded once, taking the vodka glass and the sodden napkins away, not even glancing at me as he placed a bowl in front of me.

I stared at the bowl of soup in front of me, crusty bread beside it, and my stomach growled painfully.

My body hungered for his punishment more. This horrible, cruel, entitled man. Seconds passed without either of us speaking, me marinating in outrage that reeked of vodka.

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