Page 66 of Reckless Seduction
He smiles smugly. “Good,” he steps back, eyes roaming my body. “Now strip.”
“Strip, Bailey.”
Kiernan’s voice rings in the air, my mind pulling me back to our first encounter. I’d been scared. Petrified. But there had been something in Kiernan’s gaze at the time, a softness that told me he would never hurt me. Drew doesn’t have any softness, and the warm memory of being in the shower with Kiernan washes away.
“What?” My brow furrows and my mouth falls open, stunned.
“I told you to strip.” His voice darkens, his eyes growing colder.
Folding my arms across my chest, I scowl at him. “Fuck you, Drew,” I hiss, going to brush by him. He is nothing but a show pony. There is no way in hell he will actually hurt me.
Oh how wrong I am.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His eyes widen with delight as he snatches at my blouse, tearing it down the middle. I cry out as buttons go flying, their pings on the marble echoing loudly as my ears rush with blood.
He manages to shove my blouse down my arms, flinging it carelessly to the floor before the shock wears off. “No!” My screams fill the air, and I shove at his hands that are currently pulling my jeans down my hips.
“That word doesn’t exist between us anymore,” he snarls as he pulls at my clothes. Fuck, where is that training Seamus drilled into me the other day? Not that I expect myself to suddenly become Kill Bill, but being able to at least shove the bastard off me would be nice.
Where is the extra strength that comes with a shot of adrenaline?
Apparently, it doesn’t exist, and all those videos of people in distress lifting cars are lies.
“You will do everything I ask with a nod and a smile,” he hisses, grabbing my throat and slamming me into the wall next to the walk-in shower. I claw desperately at his hand. It is not as harsh as my father’s had been, but the memory of having my air cut off still freshly lingers at the front of my mind. “Or I will make your life a living hell. Understood?”
One sharp nod from me seems to satisfy him.
Drew rips the rest of my clothes from my body before yanking me away from the wall and shoving me into the shower stall. A sob rips from my throat as I hit the tile hard, my knees buckling beneath me.
“Now be a good girl and wash the filth from your body and meet me downstairs for dinner with your family in an hour.”
My chest heaves as I struggle to get myself under control.
I sit there, trapped. Shivering. Vulnerable.
How can he do this to me? What changed?
I don’t know how long I sit there under the spray. Long enough for it to turn cold and my lips to begin to tremble and my teeth to chatter. Drew left me alone, shaking his head with disgust as he swept from the room.
When I work up the strength to stand, I quickly soap myself and rinse under the icy shower spray before turning it off and grabbing for a towel. It takes me less than half an hour to dress and dry my hair. I pick up the clothes from the floor but leave the shirt laid out on the counter while I ball up the rest and throw it into the hamper.
My room is not a safe place for me. For all I know, my father or Drew could have bugged it or put up a hidden camera. I doubt either of them would do something like that in the bathroom. Turning on the tap, I dig my nail under the loose seam of my blouse and pray that the communicator hasn’t been damaged.
It still looks intact.
Sighing with relief, I hide it inside an unused cotton ball and place it behind a container where it won’t be seen. I don’t want to risk using it until everyone is in bed. Seamus told me that my father’s security shouldn’t be able to detect it. I assume since I made it inside the house that it is fine. Still, I will wait until there is little possibility of interruption before reaching out. I want to be safe.
Even if I no longer feel it.
TWENTY-SIX
My fist slamsinto the man’s face. Again.
He groans, but there is nothing more he can do when two of my men have his arms pinned behind his back.
“All you have to do is answer the question, and this all stops,” I tell him. “Or you can keep quiet, and I can get more creative.”
The man shakes his head, but it isn’t defiance I see in his eyes. It is resignation.
