Page 2 of Vendetta Crown

"Yeah?" He jerks the wheel, and the car swerves onto the shoulder, gravel crunching under the tires as we skid to a stop.

He turns to me, and his sausage-like fingers grab my chin roughly.

"Here's the deal, Jamie. Either you play nice and we have ourselves a romantic honeymoon in Vegas." His fingers dig into my skin as he leans closer, breath hot on my face. "Or I drag you out this car, bend you over the hood, and fuck you bloody on the side of the road. What's it gonna be? Don't make me do something I don't want."

I recognize the words instantly. That disgusting mantra from my nightmares, slightly twisted.

Look what you made me do.

I stare at the dashboard, calculating my options. The car's still running. There are no other vehicles on this stretch of road. Even if I manage to open my door and get out, I'm in the middle of nowhere.

He'd catch me before I got fifty feet.

"I'll play along," I whisper, the words bitter on my tongue. "I'll be nice."

The transformation is instant. Like flipping a switch, his entire demeanor changes. The murderous glint in his eyes vanishes, replaced by that boyish enthusiasm that fooled me when I was seventeen.

"That's my good girl." His grip on my chin softens to a caress. "See? Isn't it better when we're nice to each other?"

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, wet and demanding. I keep my teeth clenched shut as his tongue probes against my lips, trying to force its way in. His meaty hand gropes my breast painfully.

When I don't open for him, he pulls back. For a split second, I see confusion in his eyes.

The mask slips again.

His hand rises.

The slap lands hard against my cheek and snaps my head to the side. Pain explodes across my face, and I taste blood where my teeth cut into my inner cheek.

"You fucking whore," he spits. "That's what you are now, isn't it? Ruslan Dragunov's whore?"

He jerks the car back onto the highway, tires screeching as we accelerate.

"You think I don't know what he did to you? What you let him do?" He's gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white. "If you want me to play rough, Jamie, I'll play rough. I'll fuck you like the filthy whore you've become. All night. Until morning. Until you fucking bleed all over the fucking sheets if that's what it takes for you to forget about him!"

He glances at me, eyes wild. "You're mine now. You understand? Mine!"

I raise my hand to my cheek, fingers trembling as they meet the hot, tender skin where his palm connected. The sting spreads like wildfire across my face. I can only nod, mute with fear and self-preservation.

Kristofer's still ranting, his words washing over me in waves of hatred and possession.

"...always belonged with me. Not with that Russian piece of shit. He can't protect you. Just like your parents couldn't..."

My mind detaches from his tirade, searching desperately for options. Vegas. We're going to Vegas. Once we're there, there'll be people around. Maybe I can lose myself in a crowd.

But he'll never let go of my arm, I think. He'll drag me down the Strip if he has to.

The highway signs flash by, illuminated in our headlights. Las Vegas: 87 miles.

Less than two hours and we'll be surrounded by neon lights and slot machines. Two hours until a window of opportunity opens. If there even is one.

Maybe I can create a scene at the chapel? No… Nobody would care.

This is Vegas. They'll have seen it all. A bride with cold feet wouldn't raise any eyebrows.

Something nags at the back of my mind about Vegas. Why does it not feel like a dead end? Why does it feel like there's someone there who might be able to help me? A name hovers at the edge of my consciousness, teasing me with the possibility of salvation.

But for the life of me, I can't recall it.

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