Chapter 23

ROSALIND

My heart hurls itself at its cage, desperate to break free. It's one of the few parts of my body capable of movement, since the rest of me is paralyzed.

At first, I thought it was a sedative, but when my limbs stopped cooperating, my terror spiked. The academy trained us to withstand torture, immobilization, and the two combined.

No straight-thinking interrogator would add such a strong incapacitating agent to the mix. My tongue is sluggish, and my lips refuse to move. Cesare isn't interested in me answering questions. He revels in my helplessness. He delights in my terror. He wants a toy who can withstand his brand of torture and still find pleasure in the pain.

I refuse to give into this sadistic bastard. My body might be paralyzed, but my mind is still sharp. I will gather every ounce of strength I have left and wait for the moment to strike.

He releases his teeth from my earlobe and sits back on his heels to admire his handiwork. A dim, overhead light casts his features in shadow, accentuating their sharp angles. Such masculine beauty is wasted on this psychopath. At the first chance, I'll rip through that facade and uncover the true monster.

"You're wearing far too many clothes, little pet," he says, his eyes gleaming with amused malice.

If I could form coherent words, I'd tell him to go screw himself, but he'd only take that as an invitation.

He reaches into a side pocket and extracts an oversized knife. It's curved with a tip that tapers to a sharp point. The cutting edge is smooth, while its spine is as jagged as alligator teeth.

Light bounces off its blade as he tilts it to the side, exposing its flat.

"Say hello to Lucrezia," he says with a sharp grin.

My throat tightens. Of course, he's named his knife.

He slices the blade up the fabric of my jumpsuit, the cold metal sliding up the side of my calf and against my inner thigh. It's so slow and sensual that I swear he's peeling off its top layer. My lungs spasm, pushing out a moan.

"You like that?" he says, his voice whispery with excitement.

I want to call him a sick fuck, but I can't even form the syllables.

As the knife makes its slow ascent toward my pussy, my breath quickens, and the pulse between my legs pounds hard enough to burst my eardrums.

"You're wondering if I'll lose control and slice your labia into sashimi," he murmurs.

My adrenaline spikes. That image hadn't crossed my mind until he opened his perverted mouth. Cesare won't cut me there, will he? He might have dropped out of medical school, but he should know the dangers of lacerating women in the wrong places.

When he sets down his knife to trace his fingers over the elastic of my panties' leg opening, my fear morphs into arousal.

"You're so beautiful when you can't speak or fight back." His lashes are lowered, with his gaze fixed between my spread legs.

He circles my clit with the pad of his thumb, making it swell. "Did you want to know what happens to the female genitals during sexual arousal?"

"No." I try to say, but it sounds like a moan.

"Vasocongestion. It's when the vessels in the pelvic area dilate, allowing more blood to flow into the clitoris, labia, and vaginal walls. This contributes to sensitivity, lubrication, and readiness for my cock. But do you also know what else?"

I know I want to stab this man in the throat.

He continues rubbing my clit with maddening precision, each glide of that hateful thumb infusing me with shocks of ecstasy.

"One slip of the knife could be fatal," he says.

Shivers run down my spine. Cesare had better kill me before this drug wears off. If anyone's genitals end up as sashimi, it'll be his.

He continues caressing me with those infernal strokes, his full lips parting to reveal a peek of his tongue. The muscles of my pussy tighten in anticipation as he leans closer, his hot breath warming my skin.

Just when I think he's going to push the cotton fabric to one side and expose my pussy, he picks up the knife and moves its blade past my zipper, slicing the fabric up to the waist.

Relief escapes my lungs, but only for the few moments it takes for him to remove my boots, socks, and the rest of my pants and toss the scraps into a corner.

He looms over me, straddling my hips and brandishing his gleaming knife. With precise cuts, he slices through the upper half of my jumpsuit, each slash grazing my flesh and drawing panicked gasps but no blood.

The fabric falls away in tatters, exposing my skin. Dread pounds through my veins, seizing my heart in its cold grip. This wouldn't be so terrifying if I could scream or cower or flinch. Cesare has me completely at his mercy, bound and unable to resist.

Despite the fear coursing through my nervous system, the assassin in me notes that he expresses his madness with control and grace. It's almost as though he's practiced undressing women with sharp objects.

In moments, I'm stripped to my regulation sports bra and panties, and lying several feet away from my shredded clothes.

"Better," he says, his gaze roving my skin. "But there are more places where a clever little assassin like you could be hiding weapons or tracking devices."

All the air escapes my lungs.

Cesare cuts through the middle of my sports bra, exposing my breasts. My pulse quickens as his gaze drops to my nipples, and he squeezes both between his fingers.

Sparks of pleasure zip across my skin and settle around my needy clit. Thank fuck I didn't stick the tracker there. His digits slide down toward my belly button, causing my stomach to coil with anxiety.

GPS devices emit electromagnetic signals that are easy to detect with the right equipment. If Cesare is as well-versed in electronics as he is in the human body, I'm screwed.

The air thickens, and tension builds until the weight of my dread is crushing my lungs. The sensation eases when he glides past the hidden tracker and stops at the waistband of my panties.

He brings his face so close to mine that we're breathing the same air. "I'm going to perform a full-cavity search to make sure you're not bringing in any contraband." He smirks. "Although in your case, it would be cuntraband."

Fury heats my blood, carrying hot rage to the outer layers of my skin. One day, it will be Cesare lying helpless beneath me. I'll pay him back for every moment of this humiliation.

He slices through my panties, brings them to his nostrils, and takes a deep sniff. "Delicious, but I want more."

Panting harder than a feral tomcat, he grabs the spreader bar and lifts my feet toward the ceiling. He stands up and secures the metal pole to a set of hooks hanging from above. When he releases them, I'm hanging mostly upside down with my legs spread, my head and shoulders sliding on the floor.

Cesare stares down between my legs, making my cheeks heat. The academy never taught me how to cope with this level of humiliation.

"Too low," he mutters and yanks down a pulley that causes the spreader bar to raise my exposed pussy level with his crotch. "Now, let's see what you're hiding here."

He snaps on a pair of latex gloves. "I was going to make an excuse about why I didn't bring any lube, but it looks like you've produced plenty."

Fuck this bastard.

He slides his fingers over my slit, creating obscene wet sounds that make me want to clench my teeth. This is insane. My body shouldn't be so desperately aroused. Yet when his digits slip into the first inch of my pussy and move in slow, deliberate strokes, the pleasure electrifies every nerve ending, instilling me with shockwaves.

My muscles clench around the cylinder I hid in my vagina. I want to squeeze my eyes shut and squirm, but I'm frozen. Frozen to do nothing but wait for the inevitable.

"So tight," he groans, his fingers still teasing my entrance and refusing to go further.

He knows exactly where I've hidden my stash, but he's drawing out the torment.

"You look good enough to eat." He leans close and inhales a deep, noisy sniff. "And your scent is mouthwatering."

A pained groan escapes my lips.

"Tell me what you want." He leans down and fixes me with a smirk.

I send him my most venomous glare. This bastard knows precisely what he's doing. He's getting me exactly where he wants, begging for his tongue.

Frustration builds low in my belly. If I'm going to die tonight or at some point soon after, then he'd better make it pleasant. By now, Britt would have escaped the cops or whoever else is on their tail, and she'll take Miranda somewhere Cesare and Gunther will never guess.

His fingers reach down past the cylinder and feel around until he touches a spot that makes my body flinch. The movement is involuntary, as is the explosion of ecstasy.

"Do you want me to continue rubbing your g-spot?" he asks, his voice so deep that all the fine hairs on my body stand on end. "Do you want me to make you come hard enough to shake the walls of the truck?"

I want to tell him to get real, but the way he's stroking over that spot has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. My entire body is a raw nerve, every inch of my flesh overcome with the urgent need for release.

Sweat breaks out across my skin and rapid breaths billow in and out of my lungs. I don't know what game he's playing or how he intends to win. Hell, I'd give in if it meant he would continue what he's doing with that finger.

He slides another digit into my pussy and scissors them open, stretching me further. Pleasure mingles with pain, and I can't help but moan.

Please... I want to say. Please, never stop.

His fingers close in around the latex sheath, and he pulls out the cylinder containing my decoys.

"How disappointing," he says, his voice frigid.

The heat I felt earlier disappears, replaced with the cold, harsh reality that I'm stuck in a truck with a psychopath.

"Now that you've lubricated my fingers, I'll search the other cavity."

My breath catches, and I send every ounce of concentration to my fingertips. If I can make one of them twitch, I might be able to move when the time is right.

Cesare's thick fingers press down on my anus, which is so relaxed that it barely offers any resistance. The stretch is incredible, mingling pleasure, pain, arousal and panic. My body gives into the sensations as he enters me to the hilt with those long fingers, which move in and out with a rhythm that matches the beat of my racing heart.

"I own you," he growls. "Every delectable inch. Every hole is mine to plunder. Mine to fill."

My breath shallows. I'm still so aroused from all that pressure on my g-spot that, for a moment, a tiny part of me wants to agree.

I focus on my fingers, my toes, my watering eyes, trying to get something to move. If Cesare continues this sweet torment, I might lose what's left of my mind.