My vision wavers as a surge of hot fury crashes over me. I tear the note into tiny pieces and fling them onto the tray, too. Then I pick up the tray and fling it at the door.
I hope he sees it. I hope he feels how much I despise him when he does.
It makes a satisfying crash, and I’m pleased for about three seconds.
“Go fuck yourself, you asshole.” I down the juice; it’s delicious and it makes me hate him even more. Anger seethes through me like smoke, thick and acrid. I chuck the glass at the door, the shattering glass music to my angry ears. “I’m not going to do this. He can wear that dress himself.”
I fling myself onto my bed and sulk in my anger. In here, it’s easy to lose track of time; it could be twenty minutes or two hours, but when a knock sound and the key turns, I’m still fuming.
The door opens and two boxes are delivered by one of the burly men I saw the other night. He glances at me and the mess as he sets the boxes on the floor, raising an eyebrow. “Boss says be ready in an hour.”
“Boss,” I say sweetly, “can go and fuck himself.”
A small smile appears across his face, a jarring contrast to his rock-like exterior. “You want me to tell him that?”
I cross my arms. “Sure. I don’t care.”
“One hour. Someone will unlock the door. Meet him at the bottom of the stairs.” And then he’s gone.
I don’t even open the boxes. I recognize the names on the boxes: high end, classy designer shit that I don’t want. Bargain basement cheap knock offs or handmade just for me, I really don’t care. In this situation, it’s all the same; clothes for a personal whore. I’m not going to be that for him.
I’m… I sigh. I’m at his mercy, and it hurts, stings more than I ever thought it would. I suck in a breath. I wanted to actually like, on some level, the guy I first slept with. Mom tried to instill the whole virginity is a gift thing, but she did say when you do it, do it with someone who cares for you. This Nikolai monster could never be classed as caring for me, not in a million years. I’m just a tool for some sick revenge he has planned for a man I don’t know.
I’m done playing this game. Done.
Instead of listening to ‘instructions’, I lay down, pull the covers over me, and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep. Maybe when I wake, Uncle Max will still be alive and all this will have been a horrible nightmare.
I think I drifted off for a few minutes, but my mind is buzzing and won’t settle, so I just lay here, going over my speech, pouring over memories, things mom and Max taught me about survival.
Unfortunately for me, none of it was about being held captive.
The minutes tick by; I don’t have my phone or a watch, but I count them all the same. Eventually, I push back the covers to get up and stand, almost going over to the stupid boxes, but I stop myself. What do I care what’s in them? I’m not putting them on anyways.
Outside, there’s a pounding of footsteps coming closer, like someone’s running up the stairs. They stop outside my door and my heart squeezes as my blood turns to ice. A deer in headlights; that’s me, no matter how much I want to be a fierce predator. The scrape of a key in the lock with a light knock is my signal, one I’m not paying attention to and am not dressed for.
When I don’t answer, the door flings open, revealing Nikolai standing there, utterly gorgeous, completely dangerous, and burning with fury, a harsh glitter in his eyes. “When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it.”
Crossing my arms, I glare as he takes me in, his gaze sliding slowly over me, making my skin crawl. Then he moves up, lingering on my breasts. My nipples bead and an ache I despise starts throbbing deep between my thighs, like I want him to look at me now. “Bite me.”
He smirks at my insolence. “Oh darling, I will, don’t you worry. I see you’re not dressed.”
He doesn’t sound angry, but it’s there, spitting, coiled, ready to strike. It takes every part of my willpower to stand here, like I’m not affected by him. The awful thing is, I get the feeling he sees that I am anyway. “I don’t want to.”
He looks at me, eyebrow quirked, and nods slowly. “That so? And what would the fucking princess like to do?”
I narrow my eyes. “Like you care.”
He just rolls his eyes in return at my clear disdain for him. “Get dressed. I’m bored, Rosalind.”
With a snort, I say, “I’d rather go like this. Actually, I’d rather not go at all.”
His smile is a bite, sharp. “I don’t give a fuck about what you would rather not do, little girl.” He saunters in, stepping over the mess on the floor and picking up the bottom box, pulling out the dress from under the tissue paper. “You weren’t complaining when I had my fingers in your cunt. No, you came so hard, I thought you were going to give us away.”
“A real bragging point for you, isn’t it?” I’m balancing on a tightrope, hungry monsters below me, and I don’t care at all. “Maybe I’m just a good actress.”
Holding up the short, flowery dress to my body, he strategically ignores my obvious lie. “Put this on.”
“No.”
“No?” His eyes are slits now, anger simmering at the surface. If I wasn’t already full of anger, it would probably burn me.
“I’d rather go naked.”
“Fine by me.” Not bothering to fight anymore, he tosses the dress to the bed and reaches for me.