Page 14 of Hunted to the Altar
I paused, allowing her muffled shouts to fill the silence. “Now, this guy,” I continued, “was absolutely terrified. He didn’t stop screaming the entire ride. Kind of like you.” I chuckled softly, ignoring the renewed pounding from the trunk. “It was so bad we had to duct-tape his mouth shut. Lucky for you, I don’t have any tape on me.”
The pounding softened for a moment, as though she were processing my words. I could almost feel her fury radiating through the steel.
“Shhh,” I murmured, my tone calm but firm, as though soothing a restless child. “You’re safe. You just don’t realize it yet.”
Her fists resumed their assault on the trunk, and I shook my head with a wry smile. “You remind me of a cadet I trained once,” I said. “Always trying to fight his way out of trouble. Youknow what happened to him? He ended up trapped in a latrine for three hours because he wouldn’t listen to orders.”
The pounding slowed again, and I let the silence stretch, broken only by the hum of the tires on the road. “You’re a fighter, Nina,” I said, my voice softening. “I like that about you. But sometimes, even fighters need to know when to stand down.”
Her response was another sharp thud against the trunk, but it lacked the fervor of before. I smiled to myself, easing the car into the penthouse parking spot in the garage right next to the elevator. “We’re here,” I announced, as though she could hear me clearly through the steel barrier. “I’ll let you out, but only if you promise to behave.”
The silence that followed was almost deafening. I took it as an agreement, stepping out of the car and walking to the trunk. Opening it slowly, I met her furious gaze, her eyes blazing with barely contained rage.
“Welcome home, Nina,” I said. “Let’s get you settled.”
CHAPTER SIX
Nina
He didn’t carryme far.
Just past the echoing marble of the entryway, through a hallway filled with too many doors and too few answers, until we reached a room that looked nothing like a prison.
It looked like a dream—if dreams were twisted things draped in luxury and laced with chains.
My body ached in his arms. My wrists and ankles were raw from the rope—soft, yes, but firm enough that every shift reminded me I wasn’t free. That I hadn’t walked in here. I’d been taken.
He paused in the doorway, his single visible eye flicking across the room before landing back on me. The other eye was covered by his long hair, leaving him looking psychotic. I wanted to take a step away from his unhinged glances.
“This room’s yours now,” he said. “Get used to it.”
I stayed silent.
What the hell was I supposed to say to that?
He carried me to the bed—king-sized, plush, covered in deep emerald linens—and set me down like I was fragile. Breakable. He sat beside me as the mattress dipped under our weight, and for a second, I was sure he was going to unfasten the ropes.
He didn’t.
Instead, he reached behind him, grabbed a knife from somewhere I hadn’t seen—his boot maybe—and slid it through the rope binding my ankles. He didn’t touch my wrists.
Not yet.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly. “Not tonight.”
“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, throat dry, voice raw. “That’s reassuring.”
That damn half-smile curved his lips—like my sarcasm entertained him, like he found joy in me still trying to fight when I was clearly caged.
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
I flinched when he leaned over me, but all he did was unlace his boots and tug them off. Then his jacket. Then his watch. Then he slid onto the bed like he belonged there.
Like we both did.
I tensed immediately. My body curled into itself like I could shrink down to nothing, make myself too small to touch, too invisible to want.
He didn’t reach for me.
