Chapter 31

ROSALIND

Shivers break out across my skin and down my back. I can't catch a fucking break. I want to close my eyes, turn my head, and shut out all traces of this insane bastard, but he's looming so close that I can't even block him out.

"How did you escape?" he growls.

"What?"

"When you knocked me out and left me in the bushes to die. How. Did. You. Get. Past. The. Guards?"

"That blow wasn't fatal," I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling. "It was only meant to?—"

"Answer my fucking question."

I gulp. Telling him will only help close breaches in his security, but staying silent is equally dangerous.

"One of the men talked about driving into town to run an errand," I lie. "I hid in the back seat of his car and stayed silent until he was distracted."

"Who?"

"I didn't catch his name," I say.

He draws back, his nostrils flaring, his gaze assessing. "If this is bullshit…"

"Why would I lie?"

"Everything about you is fake," he says with a sneer. "I used to watch you fawn over my cousin at the club like an eager sub, but that was just a ploy to gather information on me."

I remain silent, letting the accusation hang over my chest like the door of an iron maiden. Every moment with Leroi was an affront to my psyche. He's cold, calculating, controlled, and conceals his emotions deep within a heart of ice. Not to mention the age gap. I despise older men.

"Answer me." Cesare's voice cracks like a whip.

"What's the question?" I snap back.

"What about you is even real?"

My lips clamp shut.

He grabs my throat. "If you want food, then you'll earn it."

"Fuck your food," I yell. "I told you everything about getting the firm to call off the hit. I even explained how I escaped. You don't get to crack me open and expect me to spill out my life story."

Tensing, I steel myself for his hand to tighten around my neck, but he releases his grip, turning his attention to the puddle and cleans up the water with his mop.

My temples throb in time with the pounding of my pulse, and I watch him return the mop and bucket to the sink, then wash his hands with the precision of a surgeon. Cesare Montesano is so mercurial one would think he had multiple personalities. That, or he regulates his emotions like a thermometer.

After drying his hands with a paper towel and tossing it in one of his color-coded waste containers, he walks to a table beneath shelves of plastic boxes.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to sharpen my senses. Do I stay silent and wait for his next move, or do I try to appeal to his last shred of sanity? Unlike his cousin, Cesare isn't a man of stone with veins filled with ice. He's tempestuous, hot-blooded, and impulsive. I need to learn to navigate the nuances of his temperament.

"Do your brothers know you're withholding information that could call off the hit?" I ask.

As if not hearing a word I say, he opens the box and extracts an AAA battery. After putting it back into place, he selects another container and pulls out a little black toy about the size of a lipstick.

My jaw tenses and the pulse between my thighs quickens.

The dirty fucker.

"You can't keep me here as your plaything," I say. "Even if you don't care about my firm's retaliation, think of mine."

Calmly, he sets the items on a trolley, along with a metal box and a bunch of medical supplies, then wheels them over to my side.

"Cesare Montesano," I say through clenched teeth. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"Choking doesn't work on you," he says. "It only gets you wet. Pain doesn't work either. And I can't starve you into submission, so I need to get creative."

"With a vibrator?" I laugh. "You do understand the effect they have on women?"

Ignoring me, he walks around the end of the table, where he pushes down a lever and the lower half of it collapses. My legs fall at a ninety-degree angle, making me stifle a gasp.

The only thing I found tolerable about Leroi was that he was also a pleasure dom. Before I ruined our arrangement by snooping around his apartment, he would make me orgasm repeatedly until I would cry for mercy. I doubt Cesare will be so giving.

He loosens the straps around my knees, forcing them apart and exposing my pussy to his scrutinous gaze. If my ankles weren't so tightly restrained, I would kick him in the face.

"What are you doing?" I say through clenched teeth. "I don't consent to sex."

He scoffs. "I wouldn't fuck you if my cock was on fire and your cunt was the only wet surface."

I huff a laugh. "You're only saying that to get the upper hand."

"Which of us is strapped to a bondage table and is about to earn themselves a gag?" he asks.

"Which of us is still bitter about being beaten up by a girl?"

He slaps my inner thigh, the sting shooting straight to my clit. I exhale a shuddering breath, trying not to moan.

"Fine words for the bitch who can't get enough of me. You're soaked."

A flush rises to my cheeks, and prickly heat spreads down my neck and over my chest. I squirm within my restraints under the weight of his stare.

"As if you're not rock hard," I snap, trying to pass on a measure of my shame.

"I am, pet, but that's because I have you completely at my mercy."

"You're sick."

"That's an understatement."

My stomach lurches, and a bout of fear rushes between my spread legs. I grind my teeth, wishing my body had a more appropriate response to a dangerous situation with a man I despise.

"All this toying with me is so unnecessary," I say through clenched teeth. "Don't you have a drug empire to run?"

"Sure, but first, I have a pussy I need to spank."

The slap hits with a resounding sting that has me arching my back and cursing my stupid mistake. I should have found another way to infiltrate the Montesano stronghold instead of having a one-night stand with this lunatic.

He slips on a pair of disposable gloves, tears open an antiseptic wipe and swipes my pussy with it, cooling my heated flesh. I'm panting, trembling, curling my toes at the intense cold.

"What is this?" I rasp. "Temperature play?"

"Not yet."

He opens another wipe and concentrates his efforts on my labia. The muscles of my pussy clench with need, wanting him to stop teasing and fill me with one of his fingers.

Just as I'm about to say something disparaging, he sets down the wipe and pulls on my inner lip. My mouth clamps shut, and I fall silent.

"Such a pretty little pussy," he says, his voice a reverent whisper, each syllable breathy with admiration. "And it's all mine."

I try to raise my head, but the band over my brow keeps me firmly in place. "Not yours," I say through panting breaths. "It's?—"

A sharp pain lances through my labia as he pierces the delicate skin. My brain is so scrambled that the sensation registers as pleasure, and I let out a strangled cry.

Sparks of ecstasy travel through every nerve in my body like strings of dynamite, making my muscles stiffen, and my back arch even higher. I'm about to inhale when he pierces the other labia and makes me howl.

"Good girl," he croons. "You're taking your stitches so well."

"What the fuck?" I scream in a strange mix of anger and arousal.

"Almost done," he says and pierces me again with the needle.

I collapse against the leather table, my legs trembling as I work through a deluge of sensations. Pain. Pleasure. Panic. The needle moves in and out of my tender flesh, repeating the motion until my mind finally pieces together a mental image.

"Did you..." My throat spasms. "Did you just stitch up my labia?"

"You said you don't consent to sex."

He stands back and admires his handiwork with a fond grin, and another emotion slides into place.

Outrage.

"What the fuck is that?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"I sewed your pussy shut. No one will ever fuck you without your consent. Not even me."

"Am I supposed to thank you for being a gentleman?" I screech. "Because a decent human being would set me free, not resort to female genital mutilation."

With a non-committal hum, he inspects the stitches. "Clean it every day with a saline solution," he says with the air of a medic delivering a prescription. "Avoid aggravating the area while it's healing."

"Alright." I roll my eyes. "Remove these fucking splits off my hands and I'll take good care of it."

By it, I mean Cesare.

He shakes his head, his fingers sliding close to my opening and gathering my fluids. "You're dripping, absolutely soaked. Even though you're bitching about it, you love being my pet."

I close my eyes, trying to shut out his nonsensical tirade. How do I explain to a man who doesn't want to listen that my body went through years of this kind of training and found its own way to process pain? Cesare would probably interpret that as an invitation to play.

He runs the pad of his finger over my swollen clit, sending a jolt of pleasure that shatters my thoughts. My breath catches, and my thighs jerk within their restraints.

"I love how you're so sexually responsive. My perfect little toy."

"Cesare," I say through clenched teeth. "You can't keep me?—"

He pinches a nipple between his fingers, cutting off my words.

"You're mine, little pet. Mine. I can do this all day long. Keep you on the edge until you break and spill your secrets. The sooner you realize this, the sooner I'll allow you to come."

Sweat breaks out across my skin. I need to kill Cesare before he destroys what's left of my sanity.