I make myself look up at him, but it’s harder to hold his gaze than I like, and when that strange feeling of familiarity threatens to wash over me, I look away, grabbing my clutch. I open it to find only my lipstick. Of course, he’s gone through it and taken both my pistol and my phone. Kidnapping 101. Men like him learn that before they learn to walk.
I set the bag aside and turn to him, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and slipping my shoes on before I stand. He’s a lot taller than me, so I need all the height I can get.
Once I’m up, I face him.
His gaze moves over my black funeral dress. I don’t hide myself. He meets my eyes again and takes my phone out of his pocket.
“Password,” he says. It’s not a question.
I smile and spell it out for him. “F. U. C. K. Y. O. U.”
“That’s funny.” He cocks his head, then tucks the phone away. I’m not sure it’s a good thing or a bad one that he’s not going to force it out of me. He looks at my ripped stockings, hands casually in his pockets again. “Found your gun. Pretty little toy you brought to a funeral.”
“If you give it to me, I’ll show you what kind of toy it is.”
“I’m sure you would.” He looks me over. “Strip.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“Your clothes. Take them off.” He gestures with a nod of his head.
I try to appear unbothered. Unafraid. All while my heartbeats slow to heavy drumming against my chest.
“I don’t think so. I need to call my sister.”
“You’re in no position to make demands. Strip so I can search you.”
“She’s only five. She’ll be scared.”
“Honestly, a phone call should be the furthest thing from your mind at the moment, given your predicament.” He steps closer, and I steel myself to remain where I am. He’s near enough that I pick up a hint of aftershave, the same as earlier.
He studies my face while I study his. I’m unable to meet his eyes, though, so I focus on the scar that dissects his right cheek. The deep, white line is ten, maybe fifteen years old.
“That must have hurt,” I say when I’m able to meet his eyes. I remind myself he can’t see the beating of my heart or hear the rush of blood in my ears.
I’ve never really been afraid of men. My brother, Lucien, maybe, but it’s not quite fear that I feel with him. Maybe because our father always stood between us. He’s actually my half brother. We have different mothers. Emma and I share the same mom. But a palpable violence radiates off this man. A rage. Lucien doesn’t have that kind of passion.
This one? He scares me. But I cannot let him see that fear. If I do, he wins.
“Do you remember me?” he asks, surprising me.
I glimpse the dandelions on the table over his shoulder but shake my head.
“I don’t know you.”
“Hmm,” he mutters. He reaches out, and I flinch, but he just rubs the pad of his thumb along the side of my face. It’s calloused. He’s a man who works with his hands.
A strange sensation makes my stomach flutter, and I find myself standing still. I guess I expect him to hurt me. He looks down at his thumb, and I do too. It’s streaked a dark red. I must have missed it when I wiped my face earlier.
He takes hold of my jaw. It’s not a tight grip, and it doesn’t hurt. Yet. But he tilts my head up and searches my eyes. “Funny you don’t remember me because I remember you, Dandelion girl,” he says. “You thought they were daffodils.”
A flash of a memory unsteadies me as I pull free of his grasp. I have to catch myself with a hand on the bed. I straighten, pushing the image aside. Dandelions in a field. A cozy, small house. A family inside.
I blink, look back up at him to find him standing exactly as he was, watching, watching, fucking watching.
“You were young,” he says. “But I think a scene like that would have made an impression.”
“What do you want with me? Why did you bring me here?” I don’t ask him why he desecrated my father’s body. I can’t focus on that.
“Questions and demands are all I hear from you when you’ve been given one simple instruction.”
“I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
“You are. Question is more a matter of how. I can help you, of course.” He scans my body. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ll fucking kill you if you touch me.”
“You’re welcome to try.” His arm shoots out, and he takes hold of mine, spinning me around. When I feel his hand at my zipper, I reach for the hidden knife, grab the handle, and twist back around to put the tip to his throat.
The zipper is halfway down, so the dress hangs on one side, baring my shoulder, but I don’t move to adjust it. I have his full attention.
“Step the fuck away from me,” I tell him, pressing the flat of it against his throat.
One side of his mouth rises in a smirk. He snaps his fingers, and the sound makes me look. The instant I do, he grabs my wrist with his other hand. It was a stupid distraction. I push the tip of the knife into his skin, breaking it, watching a drop of blood slide along the virgin blade.
He’s testing me like I wanted him to. And I’m failing. Because I may have grown up in a family heavily involved with the criminal underworld, but I’ve never so much as slapped a man. My father kept me well out of that side of life.
“I’m warning you!” I say as his hand tightens around my wrist. He’s not pulling the knife away, but he has control now. I’ve just handed it to him on a silver platter.
“Vittoria, let me teach you two things,” he says, dragging my knife along his throat, not even flinching when he slices a shallow line while I just watch like an idiot. “This here is the jugular. It’s what you want to go for to kill a man.” He presses the flat of the blade against the throbbing vein, and I swallow. He pulls my hand away, and even though I resist, it doesn’t seem to cost him any energy when it’s taking all of mine. He twists my arm behind my back until a whimper escapes me. Then he twists just a little farther.
My eyes water, and it takes all I have not to beg him to stop.
“Second,” he says calmly, his voice a low, deep timbre, vibration more than sound. “When you decide to act, act quickly. Any man here will easily overpower you.” As if to prove his point, he twists again, and this time, I do cry out.
As soon as I do, he shifts his grip, taking my wrists as if he was waiting just for that. For me to cry uncle.
My arm throbs. He was too close to breaking it. When he squeezes, the dagger slips from my hand. He bends me over the bed and leans over me, crushing me. His warm breath is at my neck, my cheek, and I hate that I feel a tear slide across the bridge of my nose.
He’s right, though. I could have done it if I’d moved quickly enough. If I hadn’t been too afraid to.
“Because really, if you do what you just did, you’re just going to piss off your opponent, and he’ll be forced to punish you.”
As he says it, his nails dig into the back of my thigh. He drags his fingers up, ripping my stockings as he goes, raising my skirt until he grips my ass cheek hard, then slaps it.
“That’s for earlier.” He raises his hand and does it again three times in quick succession as I push my face into the bed to wipe away the tears and muffle my sounds. “And that’s for now.”