When I wake, it’s not because of sunlight cutting through the cheap plastic blinds of my bedroom, but a nightmare that jerks me out of a dead sleep.

The room is pitch black, but my heart hammers as I reach for the bedside lamp. Instead of the rickety wooden nightstand I got at Ikea, my fingers graze cool marble.

Oh. Shit.

It wasn’t a nightmare.

Finally, I find a switch, and a soft glow fills the black, white, and, gold bedroom.

There’s no clock. I have no sense of whether it’s night or day because there are no windows. Only a locked door to which I have no key.

And no freaking clothes except for my trench coat. Smart, Keira. Really freaking smart. I don’t even have my purse. Scar must have left it in the car.

I yank the sheet from the bed and wrap it around my body before heading into the bathroom. I glance at the mirror, wincing at my appearance. My eyeliner is smeared beneath my eyes in dark circles, and my hair is as much of a rat’s nest as one would expect, given the way I tossed and turned in the throes of the nightmare.

Except it wasn’t a nightmare. It’s my new reality.

I leave the expensive products untouched, wanting nothing from Mount except my freedom. That’s still all I want, and I’ll find a way to get it. Today.

When I turn in the direction of the bedroom, something else catches my eye. A black silk robe hanging on a hook near the glass shower enclosure. It wasn’t there last night.

Someone came in while I slept.

The realization hits me with stunning and skin-crawling clarity.

I rush back through the bedroom and out into the sitting area, and sure enough, there are silver-covered dishes on a table with a note.

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The heavy scrawl is familiar and carries no signature.

What instructions?

I turn back to the bedroom and check the table with the lamp I turned on. It’s bare.

The other nightstand, however, is not. There’s a black lacquered box.

How the hell did I miss that?

My throat goes bone dry as I swallow and step closer to the box, almost as afraid to lift the lid as I was the last one. But the note said if you want to leave these rooms today, and God knows I do.

I open it and stare down at the contents. It’s a black and gold . . . sex toy? It looks like a vibrator, but there’s a looped cord attached at the gold end, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that’s for. And yet Mount was thorough enough to leave a note for me anyway.

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Let me?

Let me?

If I were capable of breathing fire, I’d burn this entire building down right now.

I read the rest as soon as the red haze clears from my vision.

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The hurricane of emotions rioting through my head has my fingers gripping the device before I’m conscious of my own movement. More than anything, I want to throw it at the wall, smashing it to pieces.

How dare he?

But one phrase stops me before my high-school softball-pitching skills come into play.

“The clothes you will wear to work.”

My chest heaves with ragged breaths as I drop onto the edge of the bed and reread every word of the note six times. I don’t trust this man, but if there’s a single chance he’ll let me out of these rooms to go to work, I have to comply.

And he knows I will.

“You fucking bastard,” I tell the wall, the pliant latex of the sex toy clutched in my hand.

Mount’s low, deep voice comes from the doorway. “You’re right. I am a bastard. Born on the streets to a whore who left me on the front steps of a church. Raised on those same streets and put through a hell you will never in your soft and cushioned life ever imagine.”

I whip around to face him, my hand no longer shaking in rage, but trembling with fear. He steps toward me, and the stories Magnolia told me play through my head, as do her warnings.

I straighten my arm down at my side, hiding my reaction from him.

“You think what I want from you is demeaning?” he asks, taking another step toward me.

“You don’t fucking know the meaning of the word, but I’m happy to introduce you to a taste if that’s what it takes for you to hold up your end of the bargain we made last night. Unlike you, I keep my word.”

In that moment, I believe he’s capable of every horrible thing I’ve heard about him.

He can hurt me. Kill me. Make me disappear.

But for some reason that I may never, ever understand—he wants me.

That, and maybe only that, gives me an edge.

I have a choice to make, and I can’t let fear paralyze my brain. I can continue to rebel and challenge him—and undoubtedly lose—or bend the slightest bit and make it appear that I’m playing his game.

I may be stubborn, but I’m not stupid.

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin as though the black satin sheet is a ball gown.

“I was not aware of your parentage. The slur was only meant in reference to your personality. At least, what I’ve seen of it so far.” The next part is harder to get out, but I manage. “I apologize for any offense I’ve caused with it. It was unintended in that context.”

Something flits across his expression. Surprise? Disbelief? Shock? I don’t know, because it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he glances down at his watch.

“You have eleven minutes to get ready if you want to go to work today.” His gaze lifts to mine and a hint of a smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “I suggest you hurry, unless you’d prefer to spend the day wearing less than you are now.”

Again, the phrase fucking bastard floats through my head, but this time I keep it in. I spin and rush into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, not even thinking until I’m midway through brushing my teeth that maybe slamming a door in Mount’s face might not be the best idea I’ve ever had.

Even so, I scrub my face in a hurry and rush to the closet to find exactly one outfit hanging in it. A black pencil skirt and an iridescent gold blouse that looks nearly transparent. A matching sheer gold bra lies on the center island next to a strand of white pearls.

Black, gold, and white.

I don’t have time to wonder again about the significance of those colors as I drop the sheet and get dressed. I’m not the least bit surprised when everything fits perfectly. The clothes are all higher quality than I’ve even allowed myself to dream of owning, and my employees are certainly going to have questions.

But I’m getting out. I get to go to work. I focus on that because it’s the only thing that matters right now.

Then I remember the black-and-gold device I left on the bathroom counter as I leave the closet.

I don’t need instructions to know where it goes, or the significance of the fact that I wasn’t provided any panties.

The door to the bathroom opens without invitation.

“Three minutes, Ms. Kilgore.” His gaze darts to the item I’ve just been contemplating. Again, one corner of his mouth tugs up. “I see you’re not finished preparing yourself.”

Our gazes clash and I stand straight, my chin lifted with pride as our battle of wills plays out in silence. We both know I’m going to lose.

“Are you going to do the honors, or am I?” he asks.

The question sends a bolt of heat straight to my core, even though the opposite should be true. I wish that dark stare turned me ice cold, but it does nothing but spark a firestorm.

“I was just getting to that. If you’ll please excuse me for another moment.”

My request is overly polite, and apparently amuses him because both corners of Mount’s lips tug upward. Instead of leaving, he leans one broad shoulder against the doorway.

“You’re forgetting who gives the orders here. Pull up your skirt, bend over, and fill your pussy with that toy or I’ll gladly do it myself.” He pauses, his grin turning wicked. “Actually, fuck that. If you don’t do it right now, the next thing filling your cunt will be my cock as I fuck you across that countertop and watch you come in the mirror.”

Sweet Jesus. I cover my mouth with both hands to silence the shocked breath I suck in. The filthy words that fall from his lips go straight to my core as wetness gathers, already threatening to drip down my thighs.

I reach for the toy with one hand and pull the front of my skirt up as discreetly as possible with the other, keeping my bare ass pointing in the direction of the closet and away from his view.

I should have known better.

He shakes his head. “Face the mirror. Bend over.”

The fear that filled me last night when he told me to bend over is absent this morning, and in its place is the rage I harnessed. But something else burns just as brightly. It’s like he’s tapped into a need I didn’t know existed. Like I actually want someone to tell me to do these dirty things to myself.

I force that thought from my mind as I follow his command, bringing the toy to my entrance.

“I’m willing to bet you don’t even need lube.”

I squeeze my eyes shut because he’s not wrong. The latex of the toy slides against my slickness.

“Fuck yourself with it first.”

I heave in a breath and do as he says, pushing the toy in and pulling it out, teasing myself almost to the brink. I shove it in harder, needing only the tiniest bit of stimulation on my clit to push me over the edge. My other hand sneaks around, but he growls another command.

“Stop.”

With the toy fully seated inside me, I freeze.

What the hell am I doing? About to get myself off in front of a man I hate?

I stand straight, almost quickly enough to lose my balance, and smooth the skirt down. When I turn to face him, I pretend none of this ever happened.

At least, until one hand disappears into his pocket and the toy comes to life, vibrating inside me.

My knees go weak at the shock, and I fumble for the edge of the countertop to stay upright.

“Oh my God . . .” It’s a breathy whisper, and I hope to hell he can’t hear it.

I’m not that lucky.

He stalks toward me, meeting my gaze. “That’s not what you said last night when you made yourself come.”

The punishment he promised me flashes through my brain, and he must read it in my expression. My orgasm is just within reach . . . and the vibrations stop.

“I don’t have time to deal with your naughty little cunt and fingers this morning, but I will. In my world, no one gets away with breaking my rules. I have a feeling you’ll learn quickly.”

My fingertips clutch the edge of the counter to keep myself from slapping the smug look off his face. Instead, I stand silently in front of him. Apparently, Mount doesn’t need or want words from me.

“Get out of my sight while I’m still inclined to let you. Other than using the bathroom, don’t you dare take it out without my approval. I promise you won’t enjoy the punishment if you do.”

I suck in a breath and bolt for the door to the bedroom. I round the side of the bed, grab the stilettos from last night and my trench coat, and practically run for the sitting room door that’s cracked open the barest inch.

Outside, Scar is waiting. Hood in hand.

I hate that fucking hood.

But right now, I hate Mount even more.

I rip the hood from Scar’s hand and put it over my head myself, and let him carry my rigid body out of my gilded cage.