We sat in a tense and uncomfortable silence for too long. I was beyond full, so I entertained myself by pulling my leftover toast into tiny pieces. Ronan wasn’t even eating but checking his messages while I was forced to sit there like a child at the dinner table.
“Are you going to eat?” I blurted. “Or do you prefer to dine on human hearts in private?”
He glanced up at me. “You know what I prefer to dine on in private.”
Unwilling to continue that conversation, I changed the subject. “I want to talk to my papa.”
“Tough.”
My blood began to simmer. “Tell me, did you sell your soul, or does evil just run in the family?”
“Genetics probably play a factor in it. You should know. You have your mother’s blood in you.”
He could humiliate me all he wanted, but I wasn’t giving him my mother’s memory.
“Stop lying about her,” I growled.
He raised a brow, lips tilting as he taunted, “Your mother was sick, kotyonok. And I mean in a strangling-puppies way. Though, sick or not, from what I’ve heard, she was a great fuck—”
I threw my tea in his face.
All the pent-up resentment burst like a party popper, all over Ronan’s somehow calm and furious expression. Tension drowned the oxygen in the room before everything went deathly still. I was frozen to my chair, blood pulsating with adrenaline and a cold sense of dread.
He wiped his face with a hand, voice cool but restrained between clenched teeth. “I’ll give you a head start.”
If I ran from him, he would chase me. If I didn’t run . . .
He would kill me.
Terrifying things like FedEx boxes danced in my mind. Fear pierced my lungs and stole the breath from within. My chair tipped backward to the floor when I jumped to my feet, and then, I fled the room knowing I should have quit while I was ahead.
typhlobasia
(n.) kissing with the eyes closed
Having bolted with panic in my veins and no sense of direction, I slammed my bathroom door behind me, locked it, and stepped back, racing heart swelling in my throat.
Ronan was a rotten cheat. Everyone knew a head start was at least ten Mississippis. I got three seconds by the sound of his heavy steps that had pursued mine as soon as I reached the top of the staircase. He was quicker than humanly possible, his shadow nearly consuming my own before I locked myself in here.
“Open the door,” Ronan demanded, his words too calm for comfort.
Even knowing the contents of this bathroom down to the number of Q-tips, I dug through the vanity drawers in the hope something would magically appear to help me defend myself. No doubt Yulia had a key, and she would happily assist her master.
“You have five seconds to open this door before I break it down.”
I threw a brush over my shoulder. “Good luck with that.” I managed to respond in a cool voice even though the idea sent a wave of uncertainty through me. I’d tried to kick and pound and picklock my bedroom door, which was the same make as this one, and I’d achieved a number of injuries but not a single dent. “Your stupid doors could endure a tornado—”
Bang!
I jumped back when the only divider between us flew open and slammed against the wall with such force the top hinge snapped. The door swayed awkwardly until another kick broke it free from its frame, and then the solid piece of wood hit the floor inches from my bare feet with a loud thwack that rattled my body.
Eyes lifting to meet black ones that didn’t hold a sparkle, a toothbrush slipped from my fingers. Cold fear paralyzed me to the spot. I stared at him, chest heaving with the expectation of his retaliation. Regardless of what he had in store for me, I refused to plead for my life. If pride sent me to hell, so be it. At least I would leave this world with my dignity intact.
Ronan moved toward me, those expensive boots treading on the fallen door. The clank of metal brought my gaze to his hands, and as I watched him pull his belt from its loops, my heart fell through my stomach.
He was going to whip me like Carlo beat his pregnant wife in The Godfather.
Screw dignity.