Page 22 of Ruthless

Gregor snatches the phone, checks the message, and leads Angela out of my cell. Once they’re gone, I collapse onto my cot. I missed a perfect opportunity to ask Jeremy for help, but I can’t afford to have him come after me. I trust Dante to keep his word and leave my brother alone, but that flies out the window if Jeremy starts asking questions he shouldn’t.

I trust Dante to keep his word? Really? The guy who stalked and kidnapped me?

I constantly tell myself to forget the version of Dante I knew because he never existed, but I can’t seem to follow my own advice.

When the cell door swings open again, I expect Gregor, or even Angela.

Shock electrifies my system as Dante himself strides in.

My mouth drops open. “What are you?—?”

He scoops me up bridal style, ignoring my terrified yelp, and carries me out of the room. As we pass the three empty cells, I note dark stains on the concrete that look a little too much like blood.

He leads me to a chair positioned over a drain. Against the far wall, I spy a sink and a showerhead.

I have no trouble picturing all the nightmares that went on down here before I arrived. All the evidence of human suffering he’s erased. Even now, bleach stings my nostrils, the sharp scent still lingering in the air, probably permanently ingrained in the atoms of this place.

If I don’t figure a way out of this, he’ll wash away the memory of me, too, like I was nothing more than a blemish on his life.

I tied my torn dress together for some semblance of modesty, but the edges fall open as Dante carts me to the showerhead. He flips on the knob, and a jet of cold water hits me, soaking the dirty material.

I arch like a cat, my nails digging into his shoulders until I squirm loose and recoil. “Get off me!”

His jaw ticks. “You reek.”

He reaches for me again, catching my wrist before I can slap him and jerking me to his chest. I shiver as the biting cold rains down on my back.

Dante doesn’t seem to notice the chill as he rips off the rest of my dress, leaving me in my bra and panties.

For a long moment, his eyes devour me as if he remembers laying claim to my body. Darkness clouds his gaze, and my next shiver has nothing to do with the temperature.

My teeth chatter, and I wrap my arms around my breasts. “Is this what gets you off now? Stripping me of every last dignity?” When he doesn’t respond, I curl my fingers, fighting the urge to claw his face. “If I’d known you were a psycho who spends his days torturing innocents, I never would have been stupid enough to fall for you.”

He flinches, though the movement’s so minute that I can’t even be sure of it. Without warning, he sticks his fingers between his lips and whistles so sharply that I wince.

From behind him, a massive German Shepard with a scar down one eye stalks forward on stiff legs. The dog’s lips peel back from sharp teeth, and the low snarl sets my nerves on edge. I retreat into the water, which cocoons me in a liquid curtain that grows warmer every second.

“Pistol.” Dante’s attention remains fixed on me as he speaks. Against my will, I notice how his damp shirt, now transparent, clings to the ridges in his stomach and the firm muscles of his upper chest. “Stay.”

At first, I assume he’s issuing the order to me, but then Pistol huffs and sits. Once the animal settles, Dante spins on his heel. With my dripping, tattered dress in hand, he heads back toward my cell.

“Wai—”

When I try to follow, Pistol snaps those razor-sharp teeth. I stumble back, putting more distance between me and the beast.

“There’s a bar of soap on the ledge by the sink.” I flinch at Dante’s voice, and Pistol grumbles in warning. “Make the most of it.”

Damn him.

I want to argue, but I haven’t showered since the night of our cursed date, so he’s right. I do stink.

Fixing one eye on the German Shepherd, I strip off my bra and panties and drop them to the ground. Then I grab the soap and embrace the sting of the nearly burning water.

I scrub my face, body, and hair until the grime and horror of the last few days slip down the drain. Then I scrub some more. I can’t do much about my gross-feeling teeth without a toothbrush, so I rinse out my mouth with shower water and brush my teeth with a finger. I even have a minute to wash my underwear with the soap bar before Dante returns and flips the water off with a bored expression.

Despite the short shower, I feel almost human again. Panties in hand, I straighten my spine and battle the impulse to cover myself as he drinks in my drenched, vulnerable state. I may be his prisoner, but I refuse to let him shame me any more than he already has.

He notes my defiant chin tilt with a twitch of his lips and tosses me a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.