Page 3 of Taming Seraphine

My breathing shallows when a huge, warm hand begins a slow path up my inner thigh. Revulsion roils across my skin and gathers in my shrinking stomach. I can’t let another man touch me like this. Not again. Not while I’m awake and able to fight.

But I will.

I clench my jaw, resolving to endure this for Nanna.

“Sweet girl,” he croons. “Are you a virgin?”

Not anymore. I’m tainted because of men like him. Men like him I want to punish. Men like him I want to erase from this earth.

My teeth grind as he pushes my panties to the side and explores me with his fingers. I have to swallow back a scream when he invades me with two digits.

Every instinct in my body tells me to rear up and finish him before he goes any further, but I’m cautious. Even with my eyes closed, I feel his gaze sweeping my face.

I lie back, endure, and wait. I’ll only have one chance. The moment must be perfect. When the target pulls out his fingers, my stomach lurches because I know what will happen next. When he enters me with one thrust, a silent scream lodges in the back of my throat.

“So tight,” he grunts into the side of my face.

Blood roars through my ears, drowned out by his breaths that punctuate each thrust. As he picks up speed, I peek through my lashes to find his eyes squeezed shut, his craggy features contorted with a sick combination of pleasure and malice.

My hand curls into a fist.

Not yet.

When I’m absolutely certain he’s lost in his pleasure, I slide a hand up the mattress and extract the hairpin infused with poison. The handler made me practice using it from every possible angle and assured me it would work in seconds.

Just as I’m about to ram it into his jugular, the target’s hand clamps around my neck.

My eyes fly open, and I stare into his twisted grin.

Cold shock hits me in the gut. I gasp, but he grabs the hand holding my weapon and quickens his pace.

“Come for me,” he growls.

I twist the hairpin around in my fingers, stab its pointed end into his hand, and push down on the plunger.

The target rears back with a roar, raises his fist, and slams it into my face. “Bitch. I’ll?—”

Pain explodes through my sinuses, but it’s nothing compared to what I had to endure during my training. The target collapses on top of me before he finishes his sentence. With my free hand, I check his pulse. It’s still beating. Freeing my wrist from the hand I injected, I find it’s wet with the poison.

Shit.

What if I failed to give him a lethal dose?

I thrash my arms and legs, trying to dislodge his dead weight. When I finally slide out from under him, he’s gasping for air. Sweat beads across his forehead and his lips part. He tries to speak, but the words that come out are garbled.

He’s still alive.

“No.”

I scramble off the mattress, my gaze darting to an armchair where I spot a gun holster. If I shoot him, his death will be quick, but the noise will alert the guards. Instead, I pick up a crimson cushion from the bed and press it over his face.

The target gasps and struggles, trying to buck me off, but I push down with all my weight. Minutes pass, and he stops moving. I continue holding the cushion until I’m certain he’s dead.

My heart thrashes within its cage, reminding me I have to leave before someone knocks. I check his pulse again. Finding no heartbeat, I throw down the cushion and rush to the serving hatch.

The escape goes as planned. At this time of night, the kitchen is closed, so I navigate the maze of stainless steel tables on trembling legs until I slip into a darkened hallway that leads to a fire exit.

Outside, cool air fills my lungs, and I step into the alleyway, where a black sedan awaits with dimmed headlights. I exhale a noisy breath of relief and rush into the car, only to find a computer tablet on the back seat.

---