Page 11 of Tempted to Rebel

Fuckingchildren.

With a growl, I slam my palms down on the countertop. “Rebel,get the fuck in the shower.Now.”

For once, he listens, retreating into his bedroom and slamming his bathroom door shut. I wait until I hear the shower start before wetting a clean cloth under the faucet and bringing it to Celia. We stare at each other for a tense moment before I break the silence. “Press your chest against the bars.”

She plucks the piece of meat from her chest and tosses it across the room. Ignoring my order, she meets my eyes. “I’m not letting you touch my tits.”

The corner of my eye twitches. “Come here, Celia.”

She reaches for the cloth, but I pull it away before her fingertips slip through the bars. Exhaling hotly, she wipes the juices from her skin with the corner of a bedsheet. “There. Happy now?”

No, I’mpissed.

I swallow as much rage as I can and reach into my pocket for the key to her cage. “You will follow my orders when I give them. Thefirsttime, not the second.” I walk to the other sideof the cage and unlock the door. Cracking it open, I gesture for her to come through. “Come here.” She hesitates, and I snap my fingers, pointing to the ground at my feet. “Now.”

Fire flashes in her eyes. “I’m not your fucking pet!”

“You will listen to me,” I hiss, grabbing the cage door and ripping it open, “because I am the only one taking care of you!” Throwing my hand toward Rebel’s bedroom doorway, I continue, “do you thinkhewould have fed you, Celia?” Clicking my tongue, I jerk my chin toward the staircase leading up to Ruin’s loft. “What about him? Would he have provided blankets and a place to sleep, or would he have left you on the floor to shiver to death?”

She stares wide-eyed at me. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You aren’tseriouslysuggesting that what you’re doing is formybenefit?”

“Of course it is!” I lunge for her, wrapping my fist around her wrist and dragging her from the cage. She gasps, struggling to crawl without being dragged, and my heart twinges in my chest. I beat back the flicker of remorse by reminding myself why all of this is even necessary.

Everything I’m doing is for her own good. “You were in a goddamnshack, Celia. Rolling around in the dirt, ignoring the cockroaches breeding in the corner and the cracked back window. Achildcould have broken into that place.” I picture a full-blooded adult high on whatever street drug he could get his grimy hands on, breaking into the house and finding Celia inside. She was vulnerable every single second she spent in that place. “You werenotsafe there, no matter how much you’ve convinced yourself otherwise.” I bare my teeth as we come to a stop by the dinner cart and plant her ass on top of my shoes. Her body weight grounds me, the chilled skin in my hands reminding me that I need to be gentle.

Shecanbreak, and it’s my responsibility to ensure that doesn’t happen.

Reaching for the bottle of champagne on the cart, I pop open the top and revel in the way she flinches. Foam pours from the tip, dousing my hand and wrist and dripping all over Celia’s body. It fizzles against her skin as it settles, its crisp taste bubbling on my tongue when I take a swallow straight from the bottle.

She gazes up at me, the fire in her eyes burning brighter than the sun. “You’re fucking crazy.”

Crazy for you, Mama.

“Open your fucking mouth.”

Pressing her lips tightly together, she silently refuses.

Cradling her throat in my palm, I tilt her head back as far as it will go, palming the delicate curve between my thumb and forefinger. Pressing up and applying pressure, I cut off her windpipe. Most people don’t realize how easy it is to restrict someone’s air flow, but there are a thousand ways to take control—to grab the delicate life thread keeping a person conscious and rip it from their grasp. I hold on tightly, ignoring Celia’s attempts to pry my hand loose. Her nails scratch my skin, creating shallow cuts that send sparks down my spine.

When I drop the bottle and hold my other hand over her mouth and nose, completely cutting off her oxygen supply, she digs painful grooves into my wrists and kicks her feet, uselessly banging her heels against the floor. Her eyes water, but not a single tear falls free.

I press an upside-down kiss to her forehead, then spread twin kisses across each of her cheekbones. “Stubborn girl.”

She can’t take much more without passing out, but I hold on, knowing that she’ll cave. They always do, preferring to gasp for the life I graciously give them than to succumb to the unknown shadows that wait beyond the grave.

Seconds tick by. I count every single one, my frustration growing as we get closer and closer to the fifteen-second mark when most people pass out. I let up a little of the pressure on her neck so that she can snag some air, but her chest doesn’t expand, and her lips don’t move behind my palm in an effort to breathe.

I remove my hand from her face, expecting her to take a breath once she’s free.

She glares up at me until the last second, her face flushed bright pink until the moment her eyes roll back and she faints, collapsing against my legs.

I cradle her head in my hands and lower myself to the floor, pulling her into my lap to check her pulse. It’s slow, as expected after falling unconscious, and I take deep breaths to calm down.

No oneeverchooses to willingly suffocate until they pass out. No one except for…

Me.

And now, my future wife, too.

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