Page 83 of Eden's Deliverance

I’m not scared now, and I’m not running away anymore.

It takes them far too long to notice me—which is pretty annoying, because I was trying to make a dramatic entrance—but when they do…let’s just say I feel bad for whoever has to clean the floor at the end of the night. Their jawsdrop.

Good. That was my intended reaction.

“Problem?” I ask, acknowledging them both. When neither of them find the courage to respond, I poke harder. “You did say to ‘bring it on,’ didn’t you?” This time, I talk directly to Broody, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

He straightens in his seat as if trying to act composed, but the knuckles wrapped around his glass of vodka are white with tension. His other hand comes up to run through his hair, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s nervous or if he wanted to clear it from his face to stare me down.

“I did. Not like you’ve ever listened to me before,” he says dryly, taking a sip of his drink, but his eyes never leave mine.

I wish I could see them—both of them—through the souls in their eyes, but trying to see anything in Eden is like trying to see in a cave.

“Well, I’m here. So which one of you is it going to be?”

They share a look between them before turning to me. It’s Casanova who speaks. “I thought we made it pretty clear that it’s both of us, or noth—”

“Sorry.” I interrupt. “I made the mistake of letting you think I was asking for your opinion. It’s lady’s choice, I’m just trying to decide who deserves it more.” With my glass still in hand, I point out a finger and move it rhythmically between the two of them, mumbling under my breath.

“What are you doing?” Broody asks, looking more annoyed andbroodyas ever.

“Shut up. I’m playing ‘eeny, meenie, miney, mo.’ Now I’m going to have to start over.” So I do, making a big show of it. They exchange another glance, but my finger lands exactly where I planned it to. “Casanova, I choose you. Let’s go,” I command, turning my back and heading towards the hallway off the left side of the bar—the opposite direction of the Pearl and Sapphire rooms.

I don’t have to look behind me to know he’s following. I can hear him. I can smell him. I can feel him. He’s breathing down my neck when I turn the doorknob, but I don’t let it faze me. I need to keep my cool for what’s about to happen, and I’m through letting him intimidate me with his presence.

Opening the door, I realize The Red Room is mediocre at best.

They played it up to be this sexy, mind-blowing, and captivating experience—but it’s just like any other room. The only difference I see, at first glance, are thered LED lights shining along the ceiling trim. It’s not spooky at all. If I’m being honest, it’s sort of underwhelming.

“This is it?” I ask, spinning towards him with my arms outstretched. “This is the big, bad Red Room? You boys really need to work on your marketing skills.”

Casanova chuckles and steps up to me, his mind no doubt running rampant with all the things he wants to do—whatever deviant things he’s always promised he’d be able to show me once he got me here.

“You haven’t even given it a chance, Ruby.” He reaches out to put his hands on my waist, but I step back and hold up a reprimanding finger.

Similarly to the other rooms, there’s a cabinet at the foot of the bed with a wide array of toys sitting on the top shelf. I scoop a pair of handcuffs up with the tip of my finger and turn to show him my findings. These will do, I think.

“Get on the bed,” I demand.

He’s not laughing anymore. Instead, he cocks his head to the side and looks at the cuffs for a second before turning his attention to me. “Sorry, darling, that’s not how it works here. You know that.”

“It didn’t work that way before…” Holding the cuffs high—and my head even higher—I circle around him in small strides, reveling in the discomforted aura he’s radiating. “But things are different now. You get on the bed, or I leave. It’s as simple as that.”

He stops me, one hand grabbing the cuffs and the other catching my cheeks between his fingers. “What happened to you? Where’s my good girl?”

I can only smile, because of course his first thought is to wonder where my submission has disappeared to.

Much to his surprise, I curl into him. With my right hand, I grab a fistful of his shirt to steady myself, then lift my left leg up to wrap my calf around his hip. It’s a good thing he’s so transfixed with this embrace, because it allows me the stealth required to pull the knife from my garter.

The point of my blade is pressed to his throat before he can even register the sound of it springing open. “Youhappened to me, you sick fuck. Get. On. The.Bed,” I say, enunciating each word perfectly so there’s no confusing my authority. His eyes flick to the door, but I dig the blade into his skin before he can make a move. “Now.”

If I wasn’t staring at his neck so intensely, I might have missed the tic in his jaw when he holds his hands up in surrender. It’s a lie; he’s not submitting to me, he’s just planning his next move.

It also happens to be the wrong one.

He drops the cuffs and grabs my wrist, but I slide my leg down and press my heel into the back of his knee. His leg collapses and we go stumbling towards the bed, all the while fighting to keep control of the knife.

He falls to his back on the mattress and I stay right on him, straddling his waist to regain my advantage. It’s really unfortunate that he’s bigger than me, because it doesn’t take much effort on his part to keep my wrist trapped in his grip.

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