“So maybe I should make your sister pay like you tried to do to my brother,” I say. “Maybe your sister should be the sacrifice for your crimes.”
She freezes.
I know mentioning her sister is playing dirty, but the truth of the matter is I can annihilate everything important to her if I choose. She needs to realize this and tread lightly. Woman or not, wife of my brother or not, my mercy only goes so far.
I release her wrists and turn my head to stare out the window again. I gave her enough to stew on to keep her behaved. Bringing up the demise of the family is usually enough to shut up—
“You son of a bitch,” she screams as she punches me square in the jaw.
I didn’t see that coming.
“You leave my sister out of this! Do you hear me?” Daphne continues to punch me as I shake off the blinding stars from a powerful right hook. “Torture me. Kill me. Rape me. Dump my body in some shallow grave, but leave her the fuck out of your sick madness!”
Snatching her wrists again, I struggle with her attacking body. “I’m giving you to the count of three to stop. One,” I snarl. “Two,” I continue as her body yanks and gyrates around in a futile combat. “Three,” I say as I flip her body over my lap, pinning her down with the weight of my legs on top of hers to prevent her from kicking. I’ve never tortured or killed a woman. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t tormented them in other ways. Ways that may make Daphne wish I treated her like I treat the men who cross me instead.
“Let me go!” she screams over and over as I make sure there is no way she can break free from my hold. Daphne’s balled up fists are pinned behind her back with one of my hands, and her body lays rigidly over my knee.
“Bad, bad choice, my wife. Bad.”
Her dress is already halfway up her torso, exposing most of her stomach and all of her bottom half. Her panty-clad bottom is on full display, upturned on my knee as I press her down. She continues to demand her release, but I ignore her futile dictates.
“I’m about to show you what happens if you’re bad.”
ChapterTwelve
Daphne
I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t know if I should be afraid for my life, or livid toward my attacker. Fury sizzles through me, but so does terror as I’m held pinned down on my husband’s lap.
Should I demand my release?
Should I beg for mercy?
Should I just accept my fate and…
What is my fate?
Death?
Rape… Can you even be raped by a man you vowed to honor and obey?
Yes, no… The uncertainty of what’s coming nearly sends me into a full-blown panic attack.
What’s next?
Agonizing torture I have only seen pictures of or heard horror stories of?
And what about my sister? Is she in danger as well? I’ve learned you never underestimate a Godwin.
“The quicker you learn to obey me, the better, princess,” Apollo says as he applies pressure to my trapped hands at my lower back. He’s never called me princess before. There’s a sinister seduction to it.
One of his hands engulfs both of mine, and no matter how hard I try to free myself from his grip, I make zero progress. I know the man is strong. How can he not be, considering he’s a Godwin and part of one of the most feared families in not only Seattle, but possibly the world? But I never considered myself to be a weak woman either.
I try to kick my legs, but they are also restrained with the weight of his. There is absolutely nothing I can do. And that fact becomes even more clear when Apollo reaches for the waistband of my panties and yanks them down to my knees.
“Stop this!” I squeal, but already know my demands are being ignored. “Stop!”
Is he going to rape me? I wouldn’t have profiled my husband as a rapist, but I’m doubting every single thing that has led up to this moment. But I’ve never told Apollo no before. I’ve never had to. He was the one who created the distance. He was the one who put up the wall. Not me.