Page 103 of Lies (Wicked Empire 1)

I finally broke his stare, yet another admission of defeat, one that hurt and left me wondering if there would ever again be a time that I wasn’t at this man’s mercy.

There would be.

I promised myself that.

But it wouldn’t be today.

“You’re not letting this go, are you?” I whispered.

My voice was emotionless, the only positive as I found myself again capitulating to Davit.

“No, I’m not,” he said with a certainty and finality that I didn’t dare doubt.

“For how long?” I asked, my blood surging with the embarrassment of my weakness.

I tried to comfort myself with the truth that no matter how much I might hate it, I was at Davit’s mercy. He would have his way in this. There was no question of it. And if I tried to fight him, I wouldn’t put it past him to leave me locked up somewhere, and that was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

“For as long as I say,” he responded, salting the still-open wound.

I gave a slight nod but didn’t have the energy for anything else, the anger, exhaustion, and sadness leaving me wrung out.

“I had the men bring some clothes from your house,” he said, nodding at a duffel bag on the coffee table in the living room.

The open layout gave a full view of his kitchen and living room, as well as the hallway leading to the bedrooms. So I was surprised I had missed the bag, the bulky thing so out of place in Davit’s sleek, near-empty home.

I left the kitchen and went over to open the bag, curious as to what they’d brought and desperate for distraction.

A quick check of the bag revealed a T-shirt, yoga pants, and clean underwear and socks.

“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling completely mortified at the thought of someone else packing my clothes.

“Get changed, and I’ll take you to your house for work clothes,” he said.

“Okay.”

I stood, the duffel bag in my hand, but was stopped by the fierceness of his gaze.

He looked like he coveted me, like he wanted to devour me.

I had just been thinking about what a terrible position I was in, how it was caused by people like him, but more than anything I wanted to sit on his lap and pull him back into the bed we had just recently vacated.

I did neither, but instead stood still as he approached.

He cupped my cheek with his hand, tracing my cheekbone and jawline softly. “I meant what I said last night,” he said.

His touch was tender, but his expression was just the opposite. His eyes bored into mine, daring me to contradict him.

“Look, Davit,” I said, finding the courage—and sense—to speak. “I don’t need your reassurances. I’m completely aware of what’s happening here and why. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. Just keep me alive,” I said.

He looked down at me and flicked out the tip of his tongue to wipe his lips.

I’d come to recognize that was something he did when he was nervous, not that I’d had the opportunity to see him nervous that often. Only twice before, as a matter of fact, and I couldn’t think of a reason why he would be nervous.

After all, he had the upper hand.

“I will,” he finally said, his voice giving away no emotion.

“Okay,” I said, hoping I sounded confident.

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