Page 53 of Cruel Pawn
“Shut up, or I’ll stab you with a twig.”
I snorted, turning her face so I could kiss her. The angle was all off, but I was addicted to every last taste of her, so I wasn’t about to be deterred. She tasted like heaven and damnation, sin and sweetness.
“So fucking good for me,” I praised, and was honoured by her moaning and softening beneath me. Meanwhile, I was growing hard again. Miraculously fast, because Priya was nothing if not a miracle worker. “What was it you said last night? Give me one more.”
“Arden,” she warned adorably, as if a single thrust didn’t make her teeth sink into her bottom lip and her inner muscles clamp possessively around my dick.
“One more round, then I’ll give you a surprise.”
She lit up at the mention of a surprise, but I wondered if she’d be as excited when she found out what I had waiting for her.
27
Priya
“This isn’t a surprise,” I said through gritted teeth, ignoring the ache in my pussy, wrists, knees, and chest as I stared at the man tied to a wheely computer chair. This was not what I’d expected, or particularly what I wanted, after being well fucked. Especially when my ankles hurt after running over uneven ground, and I was covered in grazes from being crushed to the forest floor under Arden.
The forest that was surrounded by water, because this was a private fucking island ironically called Honeymoon Isle. Or maybe unironically on purpose, because along with the fifty-something, balding man tied to the chair, there was a wedding dress. It hung on the door of a wardrobe in a shitty bedroom significantly less nice than the cottage. There was also a bag of makeup supplies, hair curlers, and a solid deadbolt on the door behind me.
“This is a whole new level of insanity,” I told my captor, who’d stripped out of his tight T-shirt and sweatpants, utterly heedless of the tied-up audience, not that the man could complain—he had a strip of tape across his mouth. “Who evenisthis?”
If Arden wanted the man dead, he’d be dead, which meant he was keeping him alive for some reason. For me?
He did mention a surprise…
But the fact my psychotic kidnapper was changing into an Armani suit, anda fucking wedding dresshung opposite me made me think otherwise.
“He’s not a priest, right?” I asked apprehensively, glancing at the deadbolt on the door. I could yank it open no problem if not for the key Arden had slipped into his pocket. This psycho and his damn keys.
“Nope, not a priest,” Arden replied, opening a cardboard box that sat on a dresser I was surprised hadn’t fallen apart at some point in its obviously long life. This whole place was a dump, a single room with a bed, a dresser, a sink, abucket,and the chair the mystery guy was tied to.
I considered the man, not particularly moved by his widening eyes, the muffled pleas he tried to get through the tape.
“Not sure why you think I’ll free you,” I told him. “I’ve killed more people than him; I’m the bigger threat here.”
Fear bled into his eyes, his breathing racing. Probably at the flat, unenthused tone of my voice. Sweat dripped down his forehead. I smiled, pleased with the effect. “Not a priest,” I mused, glaring at Arden. “So, an officiant.”
“You’re so clever,” Arden said with a beaming grin, slipping a red rose into his buttonhole.
“I’m not marrying you.”
He just smirked, utterly heedless of the fact I broke his nose, and picked up a velvet box that apparently contained blackdiamond cufflinks. I glared, but the glitter of the cufflinks caught my eye, and I took a step closer despite myself. I wasn’t chained anymore, but the metal remained around my wrists and ankle, reminding me I was a prisoner. Not that Arden even needed the chain with the remote fucking island. Honeymoon Isle. The name was a taunt and a threat.
“Are those…” I stared at the diamond links as he fastened his shirt. They were in the shape of a black bird, and my heart raced a little even as I told myself tocalm the fuck down.
“Rooks,” he confirmed, “like your alias.”
“I’m so seriously going to kill you,” I murmured, turning away so he couldn’t see the sheen to my eyes. He was a psycho, and he held me captive, and… and what? Made me feel loved and cherished and gave me so much pleasure that my bones fucking melted? If I ignored the chains, and the captivity, this week was the best I’d had in years. The constant anxiety had stopped choking me, my heart felt less bruised than before, and loathe as I was to admit it, Ilikedbeing the centre of his attention.
The bastard was right; I didn’t want to leave. But that didn’t mean I wanted tomarrythe madman.
“I’m still not marrying you. How long have you been planning this?”
“Since you cut my throat,” he replied, sliding up behind me so quietly I didn’t notice until his arms wrapped around me, lips pressing to my throat. A hot shiver rippled through me. “You’re it for me. The one. My happily ever after. My soul mate. And even if you don’t want to admit it, I’m that for you, too. I made a promise when I called you my future wife, and I intend to keep it. Let me help you into your dress.”
“I’m not wearing it.”
Even if it was gorgeous and exactly my style. The white slip was covered in lace that, up close, was made of birds and knives.Custom lace. A custom dress, intended for me. Not Carmen, not any of the fake identities. Me.
