Page 10 of Twisted Vows

He stands. Without his weight, the mattress springs back into form, jostling my chains against the headboard.

A chair scrapes along the floor as he drags it to the bedside. I white-knuckle the chains of my cuffs as my heart pounds against my sternum.

Hetsksand grabs my forearm.

“Relax your grip,mia caramellina. You’re hurting yourself.”

I shake my head and hiss as pains streaks through my skull.

His low curse fuels the fire between my legs despite the fear icing my veins.

He peels my fingers off the chain, unlocks one cuff, pulls my arms in front of me, and winds a rope around my forearms before removing the other cuff. I stiffen but follow his lead when he threads an arm under my shoulders and lifts me into a sitting position. With unexpected care, he unties my gag without snagging my hair and pulls the wad of fabric out of my mouth. A string of spit lands on my chin. He wipes it away with a calloused thumb.

“Drink,” he demands.

I jerk when something cold and hard presses against my lips, but his arm around my back prevents me from going far. When he tips the water bottle, I consider refusing, but getting waterboarded isn’t on my list of things to do today, so I open my mouth and swallow. The cool slide of liquid down my throat fills my eyes with unexpected tears.

For a moment, I allow myself to feel grateful for the blindfold as it hides my reaction. I haven’t cried since I escaped from my family, and I won’t start now, but the relief spearing through me needs an outlet, so I let my eyes wet the blindfold and tell myself it isn’t crying. I’m not sobbing. It doesn’t count.

With the coppery taste of blood washed away but my thirst nowhere near satiated, he lifts the bottle from my lips. A bit dribbles down my front. I stiffen as he grumbles and sets thewater bottle on what must be the bedside table. Even knowing what comes next, I can’t stop my breath from stuttering or my core from contracting when he wipes the droplet off my bare collarbone with his fingers. He doesn’t stop there, smearing at the trail down my chest. I curl my shoulders and turn my face away when his knuckles brush the underside of my breast, barely curbing my initial reaction. Punching him would only earn me pain.

He skims his massive hand up my front, cups the side of my head, and pulls my face toward him. After a tense moment, he releases my face and leans toward the bedside table.

A pill bottle rattles. He presses two tablets to my lips. I clench my teeth together.

“I don’t need to drug you to get what I want,mia caramellina. Open your mouth,” he growls.

My insides melt, but I steel my spine.

“Believe it or not, kidnapping women isn’t my usual shtick. This is ibuprofen. Take it,” he snarls.

Shtick? What an odd word for a criminal.

Deciding I’d rather go through withdrawals than anger the beast holding me captive, I pry my teeth apart, my jaw feeling like a rusty hinge, and wait.

He drops the pills into my mouth and presses the water bottle to my lips without hesitation. I drink.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

It’s too much for my libido. An inferno flames to life in my abdomen, pulsing heat to every sensitive spot in my body.

I’m fucked. No matter how terrified I am or how much I hate this man for kidnapping me, my body ignites at his praise. I hate it.

I choke and spew water all over us both, coughing as the cold liquid stings my nostrils.

Acting on my fury will only ensure he never lets me go.

I’m at the mercy of a killer.

He has none.

Chapter 4

Fiero Capito

I pull the water bottle awayfrom her face and lean her forward as she hacks up the water. Guilt, a foreign emotion, creeps into my chest. I poured the drink too fast and nearly drowned her.

Uncertainty spears through me, but I push it aside. I had no choice but to kidnap her. She could ruin my only chance to find out who Narciso Vivaldi is working with.

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