He stares at me another few moments, as if giving me a chance.
“Are you…” I clear my throat. “Are you Paolo’s boss?”
He doesn’t respond. Not even with a quirk of a brow or a smirk. He could put on a ski mask and I’d be able to read him just as well.
“What do you want from me?”
He lowers his eyes to my chest and tips his chin. “Undress.”
My breaths are hurried, and my heart races. I’m panicking. I thought I knew what this felt like, but I didn’t. It’s worse than an attack. There’s no coming down from this.
“Please,” I croak out, my voice as weak as I feel.
Scarface sighs and walks toward me, his hands swinging at his sides.
I take off around the bed, but with a couple of quick strides, Scarface catches me by the arm and jerks me against him.
“No, no, no.” I bat at him, and he takes both of my wrists in one large palm and holds them up. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife.
“No!” I screech, digging my toes into the carpet and arching back as far as I can. I cave in my stomach and stretch my arms until my shoulders protest.
Scarface sneaks the knife under my shirt and raises it all the way up to my collar. The fabric doesn’t tear, but it lifts, and cool air bites into my flesh.
“You don’t have to do this,” I plead. “Whatever Paolo told you—”
“I don’t work for Paolo. My instructions were to ensure you undress down to your panties and bra. If you won’t do it yourself, I’ll have to do it for you.”
I look down at the knife poking into my shirt. It moves as my chest heaves.
So this guy isn’t Paolo’s boss.
“Who do you work for?” My voice shakes, and the man sighs.
The top of my shirt tears as he pulls the knife toward him, and I jerk.
“Okay! I’ll do it.”
He eyes me skeptically, then brings the knife from under my shirt. He lets go of my wrists and steps back.
He doesn’t have a giddy or menacing look in his eyes, and I can’t exaggerate how much that helps. I turn away from him, and after about a minute, I get the courage to pull my shirt over my head, and then take off my jeans. I’m left in only my beige bra and panties, the most boring set there is, and I’m so fucking happy my lace bra was in the wash this morning when I got dressed.
I cover my chest and slowly turn, my eyes pointed to the floor so I don’t have to see whatever Scarface is thinking.
“On the bed.”
I grit my teeth and don’t budge until he comes toward me again. I climb onto the bed, the frame so tall I have to hop.
“The middle. Put your face into the comforter.”
My jaw clenches harder, and I dig my fingers into the plush bedspread.
It hits me hard. I’m flooded with the same emotions I’ve been swimming in for months. The dread. The desire to flee. And above all, the anger.
I can’t do this.
Marry the man, okay. I don’t see any way out of it. If I ran, they’d find me. If I fought, they’d hurt me. But screwing a man for Paolo’s benefit? Being treated like a toy? I just can’t. I won’t.
Besides, Paolo said it himself. Whatever happens here affectshim. I’m already a claimed woman, fighting this guy may hurt me, but it’ll take Paolo down too.