I turn away from her and stare out the window. We are only a block from Gaeton’s, which feels like a block too far at this point. The icy calm I had in the Underworld is unraveling too fast to stop. I don’t know what will happen when it’s completely gone.
We arrive before I find an answer.
Gaeton’s place is like most of the other buildings in the neutral territory ruled by Hades. It’s a mishmash of businesses on the lower floors and apartments on the upper two-thirds. We are all silent as we take the elevator up to the twentieth. Not the top, but damn near it.
I raise my eyebrows at Gaeton. He smirks. “Don’t tell me—you got some cheap-ass apartment the size of a matchbox.”
He’s not wrong. We made good money under Orsino Belmonte, known as the Man in Black to everyone else, but with the future so uncertain, I chose not to blow more of it than necessary on rent. Over the years, I’ve learned the hard way that nothing is for certain and having a financial nest egg can make the difference between surviving and ending up six feet under. If I wasn’t so paranoid, I wouldn’t have made it out of Sabine Valley alive.
I wish I could have ensured the same survival for Cohen.
I push the thought away. I don’t want to think about the past right now. I don’t want to think about anything but extracting every bit of pleasure from Isabelle’s tight little body in retribution. It’s enough. It has to be enough.
Gaeton opens his door—one of only four on the floor—and steps aside to let us precede him. There’s no way the apartment was furnished when he moved in. Current trends lean towards the modern look and fragile-as-fuck furniture. The massive couch and chairs dominating the living room look like they could hold three men of Gaeton’s size without a problem. He’s put down a thick gray rug that softens the marble floors. His dining table isn’t particularly huge, but the style wouldn’t be out of place in some ancient king’s banquet room. A pair of doors leads into what must be a bathroom and a bedroom. The kitchen is small and seems barren as hell, but the appliances are all top of the line. The real perk is the view. The massive windows look out over Carver City painting the night with an array of lights.
Gaeton closes the door and locks it. “Shall we?”
I don’t know if he means it’s time to talk or time to fuck, but I’m only in the mood for one of those things. I turn to Isabelle, who’s looking around with wide eyes, and inject a little snap into my tone. “Lose the jacket. Now.”
She hesitates but finally unzips the jacket and shrugs out of it. Good. “Now bend over the arm of that couch and brace yourself on the cushion.”
Isabelle flashes me a look. “No.”
A dark thrill soars through me. It likely says something unflattering about me that I want her to fight, I want to force her, knowing she’s getting off on it as much as I am. “You won’t like it if I have to repeat myself.”
“Safe word,” Gaeton rumbles.
“Candlestick,” she shoots back. Isabelle glares at me. “Repeat yourself all you want. I’m not bending over the arm of the couch like some kind of sacrificial lamb.”
Interesting that she sees it that way. The dark thrill surges higher. “Now, princess.”
She lifts her chin and says the two words destined to toss a lighted match into the gasoline-soaked room that is our current situation. “Make me.”
Chapter 6
Isabelle
For the first time in my life, I am acting on pure instinct. No thoughtful consideration of consequences. No playing out scenarios to reach the best solution. I am all animal as I back away from Beast, from the way his expression goes predatory. I brace for him to move, to chase me, to … I’m not sure what comes next. I’m afraid to even guess.
All I know is that I want it more than I want my next breath.
I’m so busy watching Beast, I don’t realize Gaeton has moved until he’s almost on me. I scramble back, but he eats up the distance in a single stride and grabs my upper arm. I expect him to pull me toward him and immediately dig in my heels, but he keeps moving, knocking me off balance and half dragging me to the pair of doors and into his room. I get a glimpse of his massive bed before he lifts me and tosses me onto it.
I don’t have a chance to find my bearings before he snags my ankle and flips me onto my back. Something soft and strong replaces his hand and then he’s moved to my free leg and repeated the process. I scramble to sit up and find that he’s cuffed my ankles to straps that seem hooked at the bottom corners of his bed. They’re long enough that they aren’t hurting me, but not long enough for me to be able to close my thighs. I jerk my legs up, but they’re too strong. “What the hell, Gaeton?”