Page 30 of Cry, Little Dove

I expect him to come at me, but instead, he reaches behind his back, under his shirt and—

“Drop. The. Knife,” he orders as I stare down the long barrel of a shiny silver revolver.

A cold sweat breaks on my brow. I’ve never been held at gunpoint, but he’s smoking hot, even now. Maybe more so. My focus shifts, briefly distracted by his thick fingers and large hands molding to the metal, knuckles white from his firm grip.

“I don’t like guns,” he drawls. “Shooting is a very impersonal way to hurt somebody, and it brings me no pleasure. But y’see, my dad had the same kinda revolver and I figured I’d keep the family tradition alive. He taught me how to use it, too. Iwillshoot if you force me to.”

I try to put a stoic expression on my face. He doesn’t deserve to see my fear… and whatever else is mixed into it that makes my nipples tighten and a pulse wake between my legs. I plant my feet, infusing my voice with every ounce of defiance left in me.

“Then do it!” I taunt. “Shoot me and end this!”

“Oh, I’m not gonna kill you. You ain’t getting away from me that easily, darlin’. Naw, I’ll punish you. I’ll shoot you, alright, but in the shoulder or the leg, and then I’ll dig the bullet out of your soft flesh with my bare hands before I stitch you up. No anesthesia. No painkillers. It’s gonna hurt. I’m gonnamakeit hurt. Badly.”

The gun clicks as he cocks it and a thrill races up my spine. Traitorous wetness gathers between my thighs. He shifts his stance to aim at my shoulder and I notice the bulge twitching in his pants. I can almost see the perverted ideas playing behind his green eyes like a snuff movie with me in the main role.

Then again, can I really judge him if I get wet when he promises to hurt me?

My kidnapper and I are a catastrophically unhealthy match made in hell. The line between attraction and hatred is a thin one, all too easily crossed and too blurry to define. Right now, I don’t know which side I’m on.

I focus, replaying Cain’s words in my head. Something seems off about them, like they’re more than a superficial threat. It takes me a moment to puzzle the pieces together.

Caindoeshave a weakness, and he accidentally handed it to me on a silver platter.

He doesn’t want me to die.

I lift the knife to my neck, and I laugh as the cold metal brushes my throat. “Fuck you, Cain. I’ll kill myself and then you’ll never have me. You think you’re so fucking powerful, that everything is yours to take, but not me. Not anymore.”

He stares at me. Eerily still. Unblinking. His grin is frozen like a mask.

I’m not sure if I mean it, if I’ll go through with killing myself if he pushes me. The pills seemed okay, but this method is bloody. Painful. Mostly, I want to keep Cain away from me and buy some time. More so, I want to show him that he’s not all that and not everyone cowers before him.

The silence is electric, making the hairs on my arms prickle. That should be my first warning sign, him not trying to get back at me with some off-handed, condescending remark or flirty comment. But the satisfaction of making him speechless for once makes me brave.

Too brave.

“You lose, Dr. Morrow,” I say, drawing out his name with a huge smile on my face.

A muscle along his jaw feathers. His charming nonchalance is replaced by something so terrifying, so primal, my blood runs cold when I see it blazing in his eyes.

Raw fury. Hot like lava and hard like steel.

My ears ring with a bang. I panic. A dizzy spell turns the room upside down and my nerves blare. My thoughts whirl. For seconds that might as well be hours, I’m disoriented, caught in a web of blind terror.

That’s long enough for Cain.

The knife gets yanked from my limp hand. I want to resist, but my reaction is too slow. Cain grabs me and I whimper, too stunned to scream.

“Enough of your disobedience,” he hisses. “I’ll make you very, very sorry you defied me, darlin’.”

His arm wraps around me like a vise, my back pressed against his hard chest, and my ribs ache as he squeezes the air out of me. He taps the barrel of the revolver under my chin, nudging my head up, and my heart stumbles.

A bullet hole perforates the wooden cabinet, a little higher up than where my head was before.

“Aren’t you lucky I’m a great shot?” Cain lets out a sardonic chuckle. “Now be a good girl and thank me for not splitting that lovely head of yours with a bullet.” He shakes me. “Saythank you for not killing me, sir.”

My pussy throbs. Getting turned on is the furthest damn thing from my mind. I don’t want to find his threats arousing, but I’m like a twisted version of Pavlov’s dog, and it’s not a bell making me drip, but Cain’s commanding tone.

He loosens his arm enough for me to take a shallow breath. “Say it, Erica. Now. I ain’t asking again.”

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