Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“I need to use the restroom,” I say, smoothing a hand over my necklace.
He steps back and waves a hand toward a room beyond the kitchen. He’s got that slight smile back, the one that says he knows I’m stalling for time. That’s fine. I’d rather him think I’m reluctant than guess what I’m really about.
The bathroom mirror shows a surprisingly vibrant-looking bride. There’s pink in my cheeks, thanks to Victor’s exploratory touches. My arousal will work to my benefit.
I just won’t examine my reaction to him too closely.
There’s blood on my dress. I forgot about that. Victor swung out of the way on the altar, out of the spray, but I was close enough to get spattered. The rust-colored stains already look old.
I do my business and use the sounds of the flushing toilet and running water to cover the real reason I needed a private moment. Bending over, I haul up my dress and unstrap the handgun holster hidden on my right thigh.
Are you always so well-armed?
Always.
I palm the butt of the compact weapon and let its cool weight give me strength. I strapped this gun to my leg, hoping Stephanos would come to the wedding and I could blow him away at the reception. The Sig Sauer P365 is my baby, the smallest gun I own. I’m lucky I wasn’t strip-searched in the car, but my reprieve won’t last long. Judging by the way Victor was looking at me, he’s taking me to bed, and soon.
I could come out shooting and end the night before it begins. But then I won’t get a chance to set a trap for Stephanos.
Carefully, so as not to make any telltale creaks, I open the cabinet under the sink and hide the weapon and holster behind a neat stack of toilet paper. Then I rise and wash my hands, and not a moment too soon.
The door handle turns, and Victor saunters in. I didn’t lock the door on purpose—in case the clicking sound alerted him to the fact that I had something to hide. I expected him to respect my need for privacy.
My reprieve is over.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. My cheeks flush even further. With my red lips, I look more than ready to play seductress. “Help me with my dress?”
He steps forward, crowding me. I lean over the bathroom counter until the sword on my necklace points into the sink and stare at Victor in the mirror. His favorite knife makes its appearance, flashing between us. Every muscle in me goes rigid.
Victor slides the knife up the back of my dress, slicing off the old-fashioned buttons. The dress sags, the puffed sleeves wilting off my shoulders. I go to strip them off, but Victor tsks, “No,” and waves the knife, his icy eyes holding mine in the mirror. “Do not move.” He sets the blade at my back against my skin. Close enough to shave the soft hairs there. “Do not even breathe.” He slices the rest of the bindings away.
The weight of the fabric makes the dress fall with a heavy, rustling sound, leaving me naked but for my sheer stockings, garter belt, bra, and panties.
I had a plan for my wedding night. A few bottles of wine and a bit of Rohypnol in David’s glass, and I could spill a little blood on the sheets and coo to him in the morning that he was amazing. Idiot that he was, he’d believe it. He believed when I said I loved him, that I was a virgin, and that I’d give myself fully to him as soon as we were married.
For my own pleasure, I wore my favorite set of sheer lingerie in a bright, cheerful color. Something blue. The exact color of Victor’s eyes.
I don’t believe in fate, not like my cousin Royal. But if I did, I’d say she’s up to something. The bitch.
In his dark suit, Victor makes a somber frame for my naked self. The black of his pupils has grown to swallow up the blue. He murmurs something in his native tongue. A curse or a compliment, something low and soothing to steady me as he traces his long fingers over my back and shoulders, down my arms. It’d be more relaxing if he wasn’t still holding the knife.
I swallow and dig for my courage. Before I can turn, he presses into my back, pinning my hips against the sink. I can’t stop the flare of fear in my eyes. He glides his hand over the flat of my stomach, the handle of his knife imprinting my skin. “So beautiful,” he murmurs into the curve of my shoulder, kissing the tender junction at the base of my neck.
It’d be so easy for him to bring up the knife and hold it to my throat, looking deep into my eyes and slicing my jugular while murmuring sweet nothings into my ears. He could so easily do it, but something tells me he won’t. I don’t know why I’m so sure. I lean into my captor’s strong embrace, letting my breasts rise and fall in time to my rapid heartbeat. I didn’t take the time to kick off my heels, and with their added inches, I’m tall enough that his cock probes my backside.