Page 26 of Burning Beauty

"You're a monster," she said, moving as far from the bed as she could get, slowly edging toward the bathroom where she might be able to lock him out for as long as it took for him to admit that she was way too annoying to keep as a mistress and let her go.

"Get in the bed, Maria," he said calmly.

"Not in this lifetime," she snapped and lunged for the bathroom. She cleared the doorway, but he caught her before she could slam it in his face. His fingers tangled in her hair and he jerked her back against his hard chest. "Ouch, fuck!" she yelled and brought her hands up to grip his wrists, pulling at them to get him off her.

He hauled her over to the bed by her hair and threw her against it. She hit the edge and bounced, sliding onto the carpet.

As he towered over her, he said, "Get up," so calmly she wondered how he wasn't even a tiny bit out of breath after their altercation. She was heaving, pulling air into her lungs, and rubbing at her abused scalp.

"Fuck off, you pervert!" she snarled.

"Names will not move me, Maria. Get up and get on the bed." He reached down, grabbed her arm in a painful grip and forced her to stand. "Enough of this. You're here for one reason only. I have no use for you otherwise."

Uncaring of any possible retaliation she swung her fist. She was in a bad position to do any real damage, her back against his front, but she got the point across when her fist clipped him on the chin. He jerked his head back and then shoved her hard enough to send her hurtling onto the bed. She felt bruised all over and they'd barely started.

She rolled over to look up at him, but he dropped down on top of her, taking her flailing hands in his and pressing them into the mattress over her head. He looked down at her, his eyes clashing with hers. His head started to descend, the darkness of his head blotting out the light behind him. Her heart kicked into overdrive and all thought fled. She was out of options. This was it, she was about to get fucked by the Italian mafia boss and she'd never been more terrified in her life. Not even when she was fleeing Mexico in fear of her life.

He stopped, his face inches from hers, his eyes burning into hers. A tiny frown puckered the skin between his thick black brows. "You've been crying." He brushed at her lashes with his thumb causing her to blink. He rubbed his fingers together. "Wet," he said huskily.

"Si," she agreed. She didn't know what else to say or do so she just lay beneath him as he touched her eyes and her cheeks, trailing a finger down the path where her tears had fallen.

"¿Por qué estás llorando?" Why are you crying? He switched to Spanish so she did too.

"I'm sad," she said simply. The anger she had before, when he invaded her room, drained out of her and she was feeling like a shell of her former self. "You've kidnapped me, taken me from one bad situation and put me in another that could be even worse. I don't know what's going to happen to me and you keep making threats. I don't know where my brother is, or if he's even alive."

She choked on the last sentence. She'd been trying not to think about Ruiz because she knew she would fall apart. She was the reason Ruiz was in the States, she was the reason he was in trouble. And if anything happened to him it would be her fault.

Tears welled up again and started to spill. Fuck, she went years without crying and now couldn't seem to control the waterworks. Her hands were still being held by his so she tipped her head and tried to rub the wetness away on her sleeve.

An indiscernible emotion passed over his face as he gazed at her and there seemed to be a subtle easing of tension between them, as though a spring coil was slowly releasing. She didn't feel like she was in as much danger of being raped as she had been a minute earlier, which was an ah ha moment for her. Tears were his weakness, now she just had to figure out how to produce the crocodile ones.

He released her arms and sat back, moving off her. He sat on the edge of the bed but was turned to face Maria. She pushed herself into a sitting position and tried to crab walk as stealthily as possible away from him. She stopped when her back came into contact with the headboard. They sat like that, facing each other, looking at each other.

Nic should've looked less intimidating without his tie, with his shirt halfway open. He didn't. If anything, casual looked even more threatening on him than formal. As though he was preparing to beat someone to death. He confused her. And in that moment she didn't have anything left to give. She was too depressed and too tired to deal with both him and her own emotions. The constant state of fear and anger was draining her.

"Please don't kill me," she whispered, and then bit her lip to stop anymore words. The man would kill her if he wanted to, regardless of whether she had an opinion.

He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair, looked her in the eye and said, "I'm not going to kill you."

"Promise?" She swiped at the tears that refused to stop.

"I don't need to promise, Maria," he said arrogantly. "Where you are concerned, I will always do what I say."

She blinked at him and nodded slowly. She would have to accept his words as the truth, she wasn't going to get a better offer.

He reached out and took her chin in his hand, tilting her neck up and leaning in. She noticed he liked to do that when he was making a point, hang onto her a little too tight and lean in real close.

"This will happen, bella, and it will happen very soon." His eyes flicked down her front, as though assessing her. There was nothing to assess though, she wasn't the least bit sexy in her big T-shirt that covered her up to her neck. "Your tears will not stop me again."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Her tears might not stop him, but the knife she intended to steal at her very first opportunity sure as shit would.

He stood, releasing her chin as he straightened to his full height beside her bed. "Get some sleep, we will discuss your position in the morning."

He strode away from her, pausing for only a moment to look at her, a long look, as though debating something. Finally, he spoke. "Your brother is alive and well."

Her jaw dropped as he left, closing the door behind himself. She didn't know what surprised her more, that somehow Ruiz had survived their time in Las Vegas, or that Nic was willing to give her the information. Was he trying to comfort her, or was he going to use her brother against her, as Franco had done?

She didn't know, and right at that moment, she didn't care. Ruiz was alive and relief was searing through her like a lightning bolt. She would escape and find him. Together they would escape this mob nightmare and start again somewhere else.

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