Page 27 of Devil’s Reign

The guts on this woman. I’ve been too soft with her. She doesn’t fear me at all. I pull on the mask everyone sees when they meet the Petrov enforcer. The one Luka swears gets rats to reveal themselves from a mere look alone. She blanches, flinching away from me like I’ve struck her. Lead fills my stomach, but I force myself to continue. I have to do this. I have to.

“The only reason you’re still alive is that you haven’t been asking those questions. That can change anytime. Don’t test me, Melani.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “So, what? I’m just supposed to stay here until you decide whether you want to kill me or not? Why don’t you just put me out of my misery already?”

Despite the terror clearly coursing through her, she still stands up to me. Me.

“Misery?” I tease, stepping into her space. “Was that misery?” She swallows again but only raises her chin defiantly. “When you chanted my name like a prayer? When I made you tremble with need?”

From this angle, I can see her pulse fluttering wildly in her throat. In my experience, people tend to backtrack when they’re scared. They beg, they plead, they negotiate. Not her. She doesn’t back down even when fear is written in every line of her body.

What kind of woman is this?

I lift a hand and place a finger over that frantic pulse. It goes even wilder beneath my touch. Is that more fear? Or something else?

Frustratingly, my cock chooses the moment to remind me just how tightly wound I still am. I press into her, making sure she feels the unmistakable outline against her belly.

“I’m going to hold you for as long as I need to. I’m going to do whatever I want with you, and you will enjoy it.” My palm covers her pulse point completely now, my thumb softly caressing the delicate skin of her neck.

She shivers. Yes, the fear is definitely mixed with want now. I can see it blazing in her eyes.

I lean down, and her lashes flutter closed, hiding those expressive eyes from me. I hook my thumb beneath her chin and tilt her face up, forcing her to look at me.

“But why?” she asks softly. “Is this how you handle witnesses?” There’s a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but I answer with utter honesty.

“No.”

“Then why me? What makes me so special?” Her lips turn down, but she’s not off the mark.

She is special. She’s mine.

I shut down that crazy, possessive voice in my head, but the sentiment fucking lingers. She’s mine, damn it.

My thumb inches up her jaw, then rubs over the soft, pink flesh of her mouth. Her lips part for me automatically, and her tongue peeks out, grazing the tip of my thumb.

I groan and dip my head, intent on tasting her again, to lose myself in her mouth⁠—

The beep of the door code shatters the moment.

She jerks away from me, retreating to the far side of the room just as the door opens. I turn to see Boris freeze when he spots me.

“I—I didn’t know you were here, sir.” His eyes dart between us nervously. “I was just bringing dinner.” He lifts the tray of food as proof, and I incline my head.

Without another word, he hurries towards the small dining area, drops the tray, and jogs out as if the room might detonate behind him.

When I face Melani again, she’s still easing away from me. “If I’m going to be here for much longer, then you’re going to listen to my demands.” She crosses her arms, but the hesitation in her eyes betrays the confidence she’s trying to project.

I raise a brow. This I would like to hear.

“I don’t have any clothes, no soap, toothpaste, nothing. I had to use water as mouthwash this morning. And I nearly lost my mind from boredom today. You can’t just lock me in this room and call it a day. I deserve basic amenities, damn it.”

Her voice gains more strength with each demand, and it makes me smile. “Is that so?”

“Even criminals in prison get treated better than this.”

I doubt criminals get five-star meals and one of the best views of Manhattan, but I swallow that response. “You want soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush?”

“And entertainment. If I’m going to be here all day, every day, I can’t be left alone with my thoughts. I’ll go crazy.” She meets my eyes from across the room. “Get me some books.” Then, as if bracing for resistance, she adds quickly, “Not non-fiction, for God’s sake.”