The blood in my veins turns cold just seeing him again.
Except...
He lowers down to one knee and takes my little hand in his. The heaviness of his brow is a conflicting appearance that blazes terror all through me. His big hand snatches around my throat with gaudy, gold rings cutting into my flesh there. Only one thing calms all the terror inside of me:
This isn’t my hand he’s holding. This isn’t my reality. This is someone else’s...
Foreign rage spikes through my body, and I can’t justify these emotions as I look up at the man with the devilish eyes. Everything suddenly feels far away and cut off from myself. Unexplainable understanding slowly seeps into me.
Boris killed Rorrick’s father.
This is Rorrick’s memory...
“Long live the king,” Boris whispers to me.
* * *
“She’s cute when she snores.”
“You’re obsessed with her,” a quieter voice says.
“I’m not fucking obsessed with her.”
“That why I caught your cat ass watching her sleep when I came in here? That why she has your shirt tangled around her?”
“That was just a random cat. And I’m a good fuckin’ guy—”
“Such a good fucking guy, she didn’t even think about you when I gave her a reality break last night.”
An uncomfortable pause drifts in as my lashes flutter against the dim lighting. The strange dream is a haze in my mind, dissipating and slipping away as fast as it came.
“What, ah—what’d she think about?”
My eyes adjust slowly, and I spot the three of them standing at the end of the enormous bed. Seven’s lips are quirked into his quiet, sexy smile. Rorrick’s brow is lined hard with frustration. And Christian... he’s glaring at the both of them.
“Good morning,” I say through a yawn.
“Goodevening,” Seven corrects.
The soft bed dips behind me, and my chains rattle against my stomach as I lean back on my elbows and stare up at the sexiest wake-up call a girl like me has ever received. I should wake up to three men waiting on me every day. Is that too much for a prisoner to ask for?
“Time to take the leash off, Pretty Pet.” Christian’s metallic eyes shine like diamonds when he says those words.
My heart leaps. I tilt my head at him in confusion, but his slender fingers lift up, and a golden key is dangling before me. It dangles there just like my hope for freedom. He holds it in the palm of his hand.
He’s unchaining me. We’re making progress in our relationship. He trusts me now. We’re no longer worried about my escape.
My foster mom, Brittany, was wrong: if I’m a good girl, Icanchange a man. Just take our toxic little relationship here, for example.
The plotting of my escape is already flashing before my eyes when he speaks once more.
“If you run, I’ll still hunt you down.” A rasp of a promise kisses those words.
My heartbeat flutters. He knows I’ll run. I know I’ll run.
The twisted idea of him chasing me down and tackling me to the ground probably shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does...
“Okay,” I whisper instead as I crawl across the puffy blankets and twisted sheets.