Page 29 of The Vipers' Vow

He stops just out of reach and cracks open the cap of the bottle. Then he holds it at arm’s length and slowly pours some onto the floor.

“You are a dog,” he says. “Drink from the floor like a dog.”

I don’t give him the pleasure of reacting.

He pours out some more, and it splashes around. It makes me want to fucking sob. I am not lapping up water off the goddamned floor. I remain like stone, refusing to give him anything.

He laughs. “It’s almost gone.”

If Olsen told this asshole to bring me some water, I’m fairly sure he meant for the prick to hand me the bottle. Instead, Apo is using it to torment me. With his free hand, he tugs at the leather cord around his neck, deliberately reminding me what he’s capable of.

“Do you like touching other men’s cocks?” I enquire, keeping my voice light.

His expression turns thunderous. “What did you say to me?”

“I just notice how you keep playing with the ones around your throat. Do you keep them there so they’ll be close to your heart…” I pause slightly. “Or your mouth?”

“You fucking prick. The only thing protecting you now is my boss, and the minute he gives me the nod, I’ll cut off your tiny dick and add it to my collection.”

I offer him a smile. “Because you can’t wait to sleep with my cock so close to your face, too?”

If Olsen is keeping me safe, for the moment, at least, it means he wants something with me. Is it possible he believes what I told him about us having nothing to do with Reagan dying? It’s more likely he’s keeping his word to Vani and letting me live until they arrive, but what if they can’t get what he asked for? The person who really harmed Reagan? Worse, what if they do and it’s a trap? These thoughts keep circling around and around in my mind, tormenting me. They’re confused, too, because of the fucking concussion. I can’t think straight, and my head is murky as if someone filled it with glue.

Apo grits his teeth and steps closer. He raises the hand holding the plastic water bottle. “Cocky little shit for brains.”

He throws the bottle at me. It smacks me on the side of my head and bounces off. I’m more concerned about the lid being off, and that what remains of the water is now pouring onto the floor, than I am about any damage that might have been caused by the bottle.

Apo pauses just long enough to hawk a blob of phlegm into his throat, spitting it at me, before he turns his huge form and stalks back to the exit.

Anger bubbles up inside me and spills over. I release a stream of insults in French, spitting out every word, making sure he understands the contempt behind them. I could have just as easily cursed him in English, but I’m enjoying seeing the confusion in his eyes as he glances back at me. I love watching his face as he tries to hide his anger at the fact he can’t translate what I’m saying.

He slams the door shut again, leaving me alone.

I snatch up the bottle and bring the top to my lips. There’s only a tiny bit left, and I open my mouth and relish the cool wetness. So much has been wasted. It makes me want to weep.

I keep hold of the empty bottle, just in case I can use it for something, and slump back. Exhaustion sweeps over me, and I want to give in to it. But then I remember those cleavers.

It occurs to me that no one is watching the cameras. If they were, they’d have seen what I was doing and tried to stop me. Unless they know there’s no way I can reach the goddamned cleavers, and are entertaining themselves by watching me struggle?

I look down at the empty plastic bottle in my hand, and then at my booted foot, and start to come up with a plan.

11

VANI

I’m anxious about coming across any of my father’s men, the Jackal Riders MC.

It’s not that I don’t want to see them—or my dad—but the huge, silent man positioned behind me brings a whole heap of complications. Perhaps it would have been better for me to come alone, but I know Zane and Saint would never have agreed to it.

Besides, it’s not as though I’m a child. I’m a grown woman now, and my dad needs to accept that. He still sees me as a little girl, a projection of himself, rather than an independent person with her own thoughts and desires. It’s about time he understands I’m not prepared to spend the rest of my life alone just to keep his image of me as his perfect princess alive.

None of the four of us can escape the fact that our families are all hugely powerful, and filled with influential people, but we still need to be given the breathing space to learn who we are on our own.

My stomach churns with a combination of nerves and anticipation. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again, but I’m anxious about what the reaction is going to be when I inform them about the reason for my visit. I’m also worried about what their reaction is going to be to Zane.

I’m also horribly turned on and hyperaware of the damn plug in my ass. It’s not just the fact that the vibrations of the engine make it a never-ending torture riding the bike with it in me. It’s the fact that whenever I become aware of it, I think about Saint, and then get all hot and bothered again. I think of his drawing of me and wonder if he’ll spend his time alone filling it in with paint. I think about how he slapped my clit and made me shatter. I think about the things he said to me, and him losing it, saying endless streams of French words to me as he filled me up.

Jesus, I shift on the bike and wish I could get myself off.

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