Chapter 13

ROSALIND

It's time to step up from my training with the Moirai Group. A full-fledged psychopath like Cesare won't just stop at waterboarding, electric shocks, sleep deprivation, starvation, or even sensory deprivation. He's planning on playing out every sick torture fantasy imaginable.

There's no telling what kind of damage a gun will have if he fires it into my uterus, or how many organs it will tear through before it reaches my heart. I can't die and leave Miranda all alone.

What if Gunther decides to recruit her into the Moirai? She couldn't handle the rigorous training. What if she falls prey to a different breed of predator like her father?

"What do you want to know?" I rasp.

Cesare holds out a palm. "We'll get to the questioning later."

"I'm authorized to release?—"

Slap!

My head jerks to the side with the force of his blow.

"Answer my other question first." He waves the pistol.

"What? Have I heard of pussy roulette?"

He nods, his eyes shining with sick pleasure.

"No," I reply. "But I think the name of the game speaks for itself."

Cesare grins, his gaze dropping to my exposed pussy, and my fight or flight urges me into action. I twist my arms, trying to loosen the leather restraints, but they're still too tight.

"Here are the rules," he says. "I will spin the cylinder of this revolver and load one of its chambers with a bullet. Then I will stick its barrel deep into your cunt. Each time you fail to answer a question to my satisfaction, I will pull the trigger. Got it?"

"Or you could just ask me and I'll?—"

Slap!

My nostrils flare. This sadistic bastard doesn't give a shit about gathering information. I need to switch tactics.

"Got it?" he says with more bite.

"Got it," I say through clenched teeth. "May I say something before we begin?"

"Speak."

"At least sterilize the fucking gun."

He chuckles and taps my cheek with its barrel. "Oh, my sweet Rosalind. What makes you think you'll live long enough to succumb to an infection?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. It was worth a try.

"But if you insist."

My eyes snap open, and I watch Cesare walk to the other side of the playroom, where he sets the gun down on the counter and reaches for a transparent box.

He turns to flash me a grin. "While I'm here, I may as well clean the bullet."

Whistling a tune I don't recognize, he snaps on a pair of gloves and extracts a pack of sterile wipes. It takes everything I have to force my gaze away from the transfixing spectacle.

I focus all my attention on freeing my right hand and tuck my thumb into the gap between my little and ring fingers. Once my palm is compressed, I jerk the arm downward.

The leather strap strains and creaks, freeing me about an inch. I grit my teeth and try again with a harder tug. My skin scrapes against the rough material, but I manage to wiggle out my hand up to the first knuckles.

A squeaky wheel brings my attention back to the other side of the room. Cesare pushes a trolley carrying a small first aid box, the revolver, a bullet, a ring gag, and a scalpel.

"Shall we begin?" he asks, his eyes dancing.

Shivers skitter across every inch of skin, but I hold my body still. While he's kneeling between my legs, I can free my hand, maybe grab the blade and stab him in the throat.

Cesare picks up the scalpel. "First, I need to mark you as mine."

"You do that with all your victims?" I mutter.

"Only the ones I want to keep alive."

That should make me shudder, but it gives me hope. Cesare steps between my spread legs and grabs one of my breasts.

"You have the most fantastic tits." He gives it a hard squeeze, and I shiver.

With surgical precision, he brings the blade to the skin and presses. Sharp pain slices through my nerves, and my breath catches. I hold still as he carves the letter C, and my brain releases a rush of endorphins that heats my cheeks and lights up every pleasure center.

His gaze rises to meet mine. "No screaming?"

"I've had worse."

The manic smile falters, and he dabs at the blood with a cotton swab.

While he carves a smaller M inside the C, I work on trying to free my right hand.

"You like pain," he says, his voice breathy as he cleans up more blood.

"What makes you think that?" I ask.

"Dilated pupils, accelerated breathing, increased heart rate, erect nipples." He brushes a thumb over my peak, making me shiver. "But the most obvious sign that you're enjoying this is your swollen clit and the mess you're making of my leather."

"Complaining?" I ask.

He draws back, his gaze fixed on my pussy. "Not at all. It just means I don't need to lubricate the gun."

My stomach plummets. I might enjoy a bit of pain, but nothing as extreme as a bullet ripping through my internal organs. "Cesare, let's make a deal. I'll let you do anything?—"

"No!" He stabs the scalpel into the side of my thigh, his eyes wild.

I flinch at the pain, my jaw clicking shut.

Cesare yanks out the scalpel, releasing a burst of agony, places it back on the trolley, and picks up the ring gag.

"Don't think you can provoke me into killing you quickly." He wedges the ring between my lips. "You're my pet, now. I want you to last."

I clench my teeth, not wanting to submit, but he grabs my cheeks with both hands and squeezes hard.

"Open, or I'll break your teeth and you won't be so pretty," he snarls.

My hands twist within the restraints, trying to free the widest part around the knuckles. I can't yet break out, but I wrestle against Cesare's hold anyway, trying to buy more time.

His other hand closes in around my throat and he squeezes. I open my jaws, letting him shove the ring between my teeth, and he fastens the straps around my head.

"You can scream and cry all you want, but first, you're going to answer some questions." He flashes me a manic grin.

My pulse races. Sweat breaks out across my hairline and trickles down my brow. This is insane. How am I supposed to answer his questions around a gag?

Every fiber of my being screams at me to gouge his eyes, and I make one last desperate tug at my arm.

The force of my movement jangles the buckle, and Cesare's gaze travels to my right arm.

"What's that?" he asks.

I rip my hand out of the leather restraint and swing at his face. He sidesteps, his laughter mocking.

"Clever little pet," he says with a sneer. "I'm going to enjoy breaking your spirit."

I tell him to go fuck himself, but I can't even form words with my mouth forced open.

Cesare snatches my wrist and slams it against the chair's wooden crosspiece, eliciting an explosion of pain. This time, when he buckles me back in, it's tight enough to grind my wrist bones.

Shit.

He tightens the left restraint before wiping away the blood from the scalpel wound on my thigh and then covering it with a flesh-colored bandage.

The stupid gag won't even let me grind my teeth, so I release my frustration in a scream.

"Blink once for yes and two for no." He brandishes the revolver. "Is that understood?"

I blink twice.

"Good girl."

"Asshole," I say, the words garbled.

"I'm going to enjoy this, too." He picks up a bullet and smirks.

My breath comes in shallow gasps as I'm forced to watch him slide the bullet into the chamber before spinning it with an audible click.

I can do this.

I can survive this psychopath.

There's a one in six chance that the gun will fire. That's almost seventeen percent. Lower, considering I plan on answering every single question with something plausible.

My throat tightens. How ironic that he plans to kill me by shooting into the organ that produced the only worthwhile thing in my life. I picture Miranda as a newborn, my heart squeezing. Whatever happens, I need to survive… For her.

Cesare kneels between my spread thighs and stares at my pussy. "You've gotten even wetter."

I blink twice, trying to deny my arousal, but when he brushes the cool metal over my clit, every nerve ending across my back and inner thighs tingles, and I shiver.

"Liar," he says, his voice thickening with arousal. "You love the danger."

He slides the barrel up and down my folds, making an obscene wet sound. I shake my head, my breath coming in heavy pants.

Cesare chuckles. "You were made for pain."

When he positions the gun at my entrance, I squeeze my eyes shut, and when he pushes the barrel into my passage, I moan.

His breathing quickens, synchronizing with mine as he fucks me with the twelve-inch barrel. I clamp around the cold metal, my insides quivering.

This is sick, this is twisted. I should be working on breaking free, but Cesare has fastened the restraints so tightly that all I can do now is play along until I find another opening.

I buck my hips and give in to the sensations as he presses the pad of his thumb on my swollen clit. Pleasure builds and builds until all sense of survival gives way to the urge to climax. Just as the ecstasy sharpens, he shoves the barrel against my cervix.

"Are you an assassin, yes or no?"

I blink once for yes.

He nods.

"Do you and your handler work alone?"

As much as I want to lie to protect the Moirai Group, I can't. No two-person operation has the clout to infiltrate the New Alderney Times.

I blink twice.

"Do you work for a family?"

I blink twice.

He pulls the trigger with a click.

The gun doesn't fire, but my adrenaline spikes, and my entire body goes rigid with shock. In that terrifying moment, I could have died without seeing my baby again. I thrash in my restraints, screaming out a protest.

"I was telling the truth, asshole," I yell, but can't form the words.

He gazes up at me and grins. "I already know you work for a specialized firm of assassins. I was asking about the client."

Shit.

"Now, let's start again, pet," he says. "I'm going to run through some names. You're going to confirm who wants me dead so badly that they're prepared to pay an assassin."

Molten fury burns through my chest, but my veins fill with cold fear. I can't win with this tricky bastard. He's determined to trip me up with ambiguous questions so he can pull that trigger.

The door behind us opens, and Benito Montesano strolls in, staring into his phone. "Leroi texted to say—" His jaw drops. "What the fuck?"

Cesare yanks out the revolver, springs to his feet, stands in front of me, presumably to hide my nudity. What can I say? He's a gentleman and a ghoul.

"Brother," Benito says, his voice low. "What were you doing with that gun?"

"Let's discuss this outside."

Benito disappears behind the door, leaving me alone with my racing heart.

"Stay here." Cesare shoves the revolver's glistening tip between my eyes.

"As if I could even move," I mumble through the gag, rattling the buckles of my restraints.

He grins, but his eyes are glacial. "Don't even think about it, pet. If you make me catch you again, the next round of torture won't be so pleasurable."

I let my arms fall limp, flash my eyes, and let out a garbled, "I'll be good."

Cesare strides to the door with the revolver, and I hold still until the door swings shut. My mind races for a way to escape this mad house before he returns.

The next wrong move won't just cost me my life. Cesare will keep me alive and use my body to fulfill his every sick and twisted fantasy before he grants me a painful and humiliating death.