I stagger, an uncoordinated heap. After I nearly run into a wall, he snatches my arm and manually steers me into the hall and out of the house. Outside, a strip of orange accents an otherwise dark sky. Sunset.
Once again, I’ve slept for an entire day. During that time, Mischa and his men have been busy. There are four vans gathered out front. The men move freely between them, packing materials. In one, a familiar face watches mutely from behind the glass and my heart aches. Small. Round. The girl.
Mischa kept her alive—for now.
“Look at the ground,” the man in question hisses.
I obey, allowing him to shove me toward one of the vans and inside it. I expect him to leave, but no. He climbs in after me, this time smothering any space that might separate us. His shoulder deliberately presses against mine, his thigh searing my hip.
As the door closes, his voice trickles down my spine, low and dangerous. “Did you think I’d let you stay near Vanya so that you could feed him more lies?” He rakes his fingers through my hair, unconcerned when they catch on tangles, making me wince. “What did you tell him?”
“N-nothing.” I breathe the truth against the window nearest me. Beyond it lies a lonely landscape of naked trees swaying in the darkness. The moon shows full and round—like his thumb blazing a trail across my shoulder and down, igniting a path through the cotton of my shirt.
My chest tightens as the air thickens in my lungs.Breathe, Ellen.But I can’t. He’s in my head as much as he’s beside me. Taunting. Teasing.
Destroying.
“Did you tell him that you threw yourself at me like a goddamn whore?” he snarls, his voice low for my benefit.
The driver doesn’t react. Not even as his leader’s hand creeps…
I stiffen as his thumb grazes the clasp of my jeans. A slow, ruthless tugging undoes my zipper, link by goddamn link. Without panties as a barrier, his nail grazes my curls, tugging so hard that I jerk in place.
“Did you tell him that I forced you? Huh?” Something in his voice tugs at my consciousness through the building heat. An emotion. What is it? “Or maybe you came clean to him? Perhapshe’sthe one encouraging you? I wouldn’t put it past him. The old man thinks a woman might save me—” A hiss rips from my lips as he tightens his grip on my hair, forcing my attention back to him. “Is that it?”
I risk more pain to shake my head. “N-no—”
“Maybe you’re right.” There it is again. That subtle dip in his inflection. Guilt? Fear? Suddenly, the answer comes to me. Shame.He cares about what Vanya thinks of him. “Vanya isn’t that selfish. He’d think you’re too good for me. Too innocent. Damn, you have him fooled.”
His thumb continues its deliberate descent, grazing me beneath the denim. I’m still sore from the night before. I haven’t washed. Wet, tender skin is an easy target. When he shoves his hand down the front of my pants, my body turns against me; muscles and nerves take on a life of their own. My thighs jerk. Spread.
“Maybe this is all your doing? Your plan to stay alive?” Mischa demands. His fingers cup me fully even though his seed is still there, drying between my legs. Rather than cringe in disgust, his hand twitches at the realization, stroking… “Are you really that desperate?”
“Y-yes.” The word comes unbidden as his fingers still. My hips jerk, seeking out his touch. I need it. Dark thoughts in my head battle for supremacy. But this…
As humiliating, and wrong, and terrible as it is.Thiskeeps it all at bay like nothing else.
But I’ve angered him again. His thumb flicks against my needy flesh, nowhere near hard enough. Punishing me.
“Robert must like his whores cock-hungry,” he hisses into my ear while his thumb laves a slow, cruel circle along my entrance.
Cock-hungry.My inner muscles clench at the word. The raspy, dangerous way that he says it. Cock. His cock. Inside me.
My eyes flutter shut at the thought. The air feels thicker. My teeth descend into my bottom lip without permission, maintaining what little pride I have left by locking away a moan.
“What the fuck are you?” Mischa asks, flexing his fingers, dipping them inside me. “Do you really think this changes anything?”
Of course I don’t. Not even as my hands grip the seat on either side of me, my nails breaking off against the leather. That pressure begins to build again, sweltering in my stomach. Spreading. Tightening.
And then, just when I fear it might boil over…
He pulls his hand away.
Before I can regain my senses, something nudges my lower lip, ripe with the musky scent of me. It’s like I know what he wants before he even grates out the vulgar request through clenched teeth.
“Suck it.”
My tongue shoots out, tentatively brushing the rough pad of a finger. I taste myself. His sweat.