His brow furrows as he looks at me like he doesn't understand what's going on in my head, my hesitation. "Are you wondering if you should do it?"
"Of course I'm wondering if I should fucking do it," I hissed exasperatedly.
"I see." He takes another sip of the glowing ember liquid which makes me yearn for the burning liquid down my throat. "Don't bother. You don't have a choice. The only way you're getting out of this house is if l'm dead or you've been fucked thoroughly."
His lack of emotion is stark now He doesn't care about pretending anymore. About pretending he can feel, that he might understand my own emotions.
Right now, I'm not totally sure he can. I slowly slide my body to the side, getting some space from him. He's not standing between my legs, he's next to me and I feel the urgent need to move away.
But l want to understand his intentions.
"Why are you doing this?"
With a shrug, he puts the glass down on the counter. "Because I can."
When you grow up on the North Shore, you quickly learn to understand when a situation isn't going to diffuse itself. You become friends with your gut instincts. The animal inside you knows when talking is over and it's time to fight.
The fucker expected it. That's probably the only reason he put it on the counter, so close to my hand. He was inciting me to act, to grab the only weapon I have at my disposal.
He takes hold of my wrist before the glass can break against his skin.
"I would be a shame to let you scar my beautiful face."
I don't talk back, saving the energy I'll need. When he pulls me off the counter, I strike my fist against his jaw: He shakes his head, wild eyes looking back at me as he releases my wrist.
"That's a good hook you've got there."
To confirm that, I punch him again, forcing him to take a step back. I use the brief moment to make a run for it, hoping I'll find the front door in this stupid mansion.
The man lives in Stoneview: Of course. The billionaire town not far from Siher Falls. He wouldn't mix with the poor people on the North Shore. Not even with the middle-class families on the South Bank.
Organized crime truly pays well.
I'm sprinting through the entrance hall when he slams into my back, taking us both to the floor.
I grunt as I roll over, making sure I'm facing him as he pins me to the ground.
"I told you to kill me or suck my dick. I don't remember running away being an option."
"Okay," I pant.
"Okay?"
I bat my lashes at him "Okay."
I link my fingers behind his neck, running them up to the back of head. "You want to fuck me, Nathan?"
I don't even let him answer. I bring him toward me as I smash my forehead against his nose. Then I shove him off me and jump to my feet, running back to the kitchen.
The man wants to die? Who am I to take that away from him?
For a second, I forgot who the fuck I was. I don't run. I fight.
I hear him coming closer as I yank the drawers open one after the other, to find where he hides the kitchen knives. When I finally found one, I hold it tightly and ran back toward the kitchen door.
As I plaster myself against the wall, I listen to his approaching steps. The second his shadow crosses the doorway, I flip around, aiming for his neck.
"Desperate to die?" I hiss.
I do manage to get him. A shallow cut on his shoulder just before he grips my arm. It turns into a slit of liquid red as he twists my wrist, forcing me to drop the knife. He catches it before it reaches the floor and my eyes widen.
Shit
"I think I've given you a pretty good try, wouldn't you agree?"
My breathing accelerates, and my desperation shows when I attempt to pull my arm back, frantic eyes searching around the room for an escape.
"I asked you a question, Kayla," he said, his tone almost bored.
"It's like he's disappointed I failed to end his life."
"Did l, or did I not, give you a fair chance to kill me?"
"Fuck," I push between clenched teeth as I keep trying to free my forearm from his deadly grip. "Fine! You–" I pull some more –"You did."
He wrenches me closer, flips me around so I'm facing away from him, and puts the knife under my throat. "Now its your turn." I force myself to control my breathing as he walks me farther inside the kitchen. "I know we mentioned my cock in your mouth, but I don't exactly trust you with your teeth."
I gasp when he pushes me forward, believing for a second that the knife is going to cut my throat open. But he pulls it away swiftly, and I put my hands on the counter, so my head doesn't smash onto the marble.
"I hope you didn't tire yourself out too much, Kayla. Because you 've got a long night ahead of you. Now spread those legs."
He palms my thighs, a touch so light I don't understand why or how my legs part. If he's not forcing them, then is it me?
Survival. That's what it is.
With one hand, he lifts my black tank top, and with the other, he traces the point of the blade against my skin, making me shiver.
"Here—" he presses a little harder. "Is the third costal cartilage. I can reach the base of your heart if I push all the way." He drags the tip lower and a little to the left. "Spleen." And lower again. "Kidney." He stops when the tip reaches the band of my black jeans.
When he presses his hips into me, I feel his hard dick through his pants, lodged against my ass cheeks.
"Tell me what you want me to fuck first, Kala. Your pussy or your ass?"
He doesn't rip my jeans or hurt me. I'll only learn later that when Nathan White uses violence, it s calculated. Jhustified.
At least to himself
"I've been told the Kings are liars, so I think I should check for myself."
Nothing is violent now, only the calm, lingering threat of a knife against my lower back.
He doesn't even need to take off the lace covering my pussy to feel my wetness. His fingertips graze along the sodden material, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut and look for an excuse.
There's a low chuckle in my ear, making me stay in the present. "So NSC was right after all. Kayla King can't be trusted. Such a wet liar."
My lips part when he pushes the lace to the side and presses a finger at my entrance.
It hurts.
That's not right. My first night with Nate didn't hurt. It was just pleasure. Being brought to heaven by the devil for a taste of paradise before he dragged me back down to hell.
But this...
Something feels off.
Fight!
I sit up in bed so quickly, my eyes aren't even yet open when I grab the Glock under my pillow and point it at whoever is close to me.
I aim at the shadow I now see.
Safety off.
Finger on the trigger.
Whoever is there is going to be dead in...