Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 101988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Our eyes met in a collision of sparks.
She curled her upper lip. “You told me not to fight because you’d snap.”
“And you fought anyway.”
“And you snapped spectacularly.”
We glared at each other.
Finally, she asked as quietly as a raindrop, “What are you saying? What the hell do you want from me?”
Victor waved, striding closer and closer.
I waved back before fisting the leash and dragging her into the cage of my spread thighs.
She fell into me.
I caught her.
I held her cheeks and whispered deep in her ear, “Fight me, Ilyana Sharma. Go to war with me. Make me earn your blood, your screams, your pain. Play monsters with me. Play house with me. Play in fucking hell with me. Cry for me when I have you bound and bleeding, and then accept my worship when it’s over. Let me punish you and idolize you. I don’t just want your fear, I want your lust too. I want your mind, your heart, your soul, and I don’t care that I can’t buy them. I’ll earn them…one delicious bruise at a time.”
She struggled to get away.
I held her tight.
Tracing my thumbs over her cheekbones, I stared into her stunning eyes. “Play with me, little nightmare, because my greatest weakness is you, and the day you understand that is the day our true games begin.”
Chapter Eleven
………………………….
Ily
HENRI’S WORDS SPUN AROUND AND around in my head.
“My greatest weakness is you, and the day you understand that is the day our true games begin.”
The gardens swirled.
The pond shimmered.
Talking to him was like trying to write the rulebook on psychological warfare.
Trying to make him see that despite his perversions, he still had a soul only fell on deaf ears. My attempt at making him see he wasn’t like the others flew right over his head.
Can it be true?
Could he honestly be that clueless where feelings were concerned? Was he so denied affection and togetherness that he truly had no idea how to care for someone, how to love?
Good grief, that was terrifying, horrifying…the most alarming thing he could’ve said.
In trying to understand him, I’d found out the worst.
How could you manipulate someone who saw nothing wrong with hurting a girl they admitted they had feelings for? How the hell could he speak about monogamy in the same breath as wanting to hurt me?
I hated the word crazy after hearing it slung around so often about Krish, but…wow…I genuinely think he’s truly crazy.
Which meant I was in even more danger than I’d feared because crazy was unpredictable and capricious and—
“Finally!” Victor’s obnoxiously smooth French accent sailed from behind me. “I was beginning to think you’d died in your room.”
Letting me go, Henri stood politely. Pointing at a spare lounger, he grinned. “Morning. Or rather, afternoon.”
“Almost evening from where I’m standing.” Victor chuckled, sitting primly on the spare white-and-aqua-striped lounger. His black shorts and charcoal polo made him look like a soul-sucking parasite. His eyes flickered to me, collared, leashed, gagging on rage and fear.
“Bonjour, Ilyana. My, my, what a pretty name.” His voice tightened just a little. “Tell me, is that Arabic for sun ray and shining light?”
I went deathly, horribly still. “How…how do you know that?”
“I told you, I like to know everything I can about my jewels. I researched you, and even though your surname is Indian, your first name is not. It’s a bit of a conundrum and one I’d like to understand.”
Flashes of memories—told to me via my adoptive mother’s bedtime stories.
The note on my baby blanket.
The scribbled message from my birth mother, read by my highly sensitive brother and incorrectly deciphered, which landed me with a name that dwelled every day in my light-hazel eyes.
I would never give up that priceless moment.
Ever.
An even worse thought came.
He’d researched me.
He’d heard me mention the hospital where my father worked.
Krish—
Good God, Il…what have you done?
I yanked the leash out of Henri’s hand and went to swoop to my feet. Only, Henri clamped his large hand on my shoulder, keeping me kneeling.
I struggled, but his fingers bit deep and painful.
Hating him, I hissed at Victor, “You didn’t hurt my family, did you? Don’t hurt them. Don’t—” My voice ended in a choke.
Fuck, how could I be so stupid to give out my name, even on the microscopic chance that Henri’s brother might find me? I might’ve condemned them to thugs going around and murdering them.
“Ily, quiet.” Henri squeezed my shoulder.
“Don’t touch me!” I scratched my nails over his wrist, desperate to fight. “Let me go. God, please let me go. I have to go back to him. He’ll be so worried. So scared.”
“Who will?” His voice darkened.
“Her brother,” Victor said without a ruffle. “He’s autistic. Very selective with who he speaks to apparently. Hasn’t spoken a word since she went to Paris.”
“Leave them the hell alone!” I hurled myself toward him.