8
I SLAPPED AT LUKA’S FACE, scratched, and tore at his soaking shirt. It was in vain. Real terror exploded through me as the seconds crawled by and he didn’t release his hold. The fingers around my neck were tight and choking. My stupid desire to see how far he’d go was going to come true.
He’d actually do it. Luka was fully capable of murder.
My legs kicked at the floor of the tub, desperate to find a hold, and my goal of hurting him shifted to trying to stay alive. I couldn’t think over the roar of my heartbeat in my ears or the overpowering urge to find air.
This was it. All of my work was for nothing. I’d never get my doctorate, or pick up a scalpel in an operating room, because my life was going to end in a bathtub under his brutal hand.
Abruptly, I was lifted from the water, but nothing worked. My panicked belief I was going to drown had rendered me too paralyzed to remember how to breathe. He reared back, and the sharp slap of his palm across my cheek was what I needed. The sting forced me to gasp in air and brought me back to full consciousness.
“Fuck,” he said with enormous relief. He dropped his hold, slid backward, and sat opposite me in the tub, his soaked jeans clinging to his legs as the water sloshed violently around us. His chest lifted and fell quickly, as if breathing hard.
I coughed, and coughed again, shaking the water from my lungs. My throat burned and my legs ached from thrashing against the marble. In fact, every inch of my body hurt. I curled up into the fetal position to make my body as small as possible. The bath was large but not really built for two, and I didn’t want any part of him touching me.
There was a thump as he pushed and released the stopper, and water gurgled down the drain. I lay in the corner of the oval tub, shivering and trembling, with my eyes shut tight. Water, or possibly tears, streaked down my face, but I didn’t dare move.
“Addison.”
The soft sound of my name in his voice made me flinch. I clutched my arms tighter around my body, and tucked my head. I’d retreat as much as possible.
It was utterly silent.
I waited for him to lash out, but he climbed out of the tub. There were sopping noises as he took off his wet clothes and hurled them to the tile floor. A towel was pulled down off a rack, clothes were gathered up, and wet footsteps padded away.
I stayed in the tub until all the water was gone and my skin turned to ice. There were no sounds from the bedroom. Had he left me? Was this some new sort of game or test?
The towel I yanked down was thick and soft against my chilled skin, but it didn’t offer comfort. I banded it tight around my shivering body and stared at the floor. He hadn’t just taken his clothes when he’d gone—he’d taken everything of mine except for the plain black panties. I stepped into them and pulled them up.
Last night he’d cornered me on the stairs and demanded I think of him when I ached between my legs, and today it was impossible not to. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but how could I get rid of him in my mind, after the last twelve hours? I squeezed the towel through my hair, drying it as best I could, then draped the luxurious fabric under my arms to cover myself, took in a deep breath, and stepped out into the bedroom.
Luka sat on the same loveseat as he had this morning, only now he wore a new pair of jeans and simple evergreen colored t-shirt. He stood when I came into view, and his heavy, angry gaze was crushing.
I stared at his feet and watched them approach. I didn’t fight him as he grasped the towel, pulled it away, and made a production of dropping it to the floor. My cheeks burned red. I wasn’t comfortable being naked in front of Avery, and even though this was just my breasts, it was far worse being exposed in front of Luka. I continued to watch his bare feet as he went to and retrieved the wadded dress shirt he’d ripped off of me earlier.
“Put this on.”
I took it in my trembling hands and hurried to slip my arms into the sleeves. When I went to do up one of the buttons that hadn’t popped off, his hands closed on mine.
“It stays open.”
And his hands remained clasping mine. When I tried to pull back, his grip went firm.
“Your schedule,” he said.
I swallowed back the cry in my throat, which was a terrible, painful lump, and finally met his gaze. I’d expected more anger, but there wasn’t any. His eyes were . . . vacant.
Wait, no. Not vacant. Curious, perhaps. It gave him a clinical look, like he was studying me with unsure, scientific eyes. He let go and immediately moved to cradle my face in his hands.
“All right. Let’s try a different approach,” he said softly.
His gentle kiss was the harshest blow he could deliver. His lips sealed over mine, and tried to coerce my participation, but I went rigid under the power of his mouth. He shifted my head, positioning me to a better angle, and attempted the kiss once more. The longer I endured it, the more frantic he became. As if I had issued a challenge and he was determined to meet it.
Why did it have to be like this? If I gave in, just a fraction of an inch, would I succumb to him as I did last night? With absolutely no effort on my part, the way he kissed me now was dangerous. The sick part of my mind, the one that I’d thought was only tequila-induced, whispered to me in my completely sober state. Give in a little. At this point, what does it matter? He only pushes you when you say no.
The decision wasn’t made consciously; at least, I didn’t think it was. My lips parted minutely, and Luka answered ten-fold. His tongue claimed my mouth, and his thumbs moved, sweeping over my cheekbones. The intensity of the kiss flared and burned wildly hot. There was a loud intake of breath from him. A sound announcing Luka was pleased I was allowing this to happen.
But it was all too much.
Too wrong.
“No,” I whispered, and jerked back. A single word, which clearly meant nothing to him.
He paused, lingering close. “So I can get a response out of you after all.” His voice was low and uneven, though, which meant I could draw one from him as well. Was there any comfort in that?
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “I promise.”
His expression was resigned. “Even if I believed that, which I really don’t, I already told you. I can’t risk it.” He released me and stepped back, and his cold veneer was installed back in place. “I’m going to explain to you how I see this working. Sit down.”
He didn’t tell me where, so I sat on the edge of the bed, clenching the dress shirt closed. Luka remained standing, and rested a hand on a hip while his other combed through his hair.
“I’m going to set benchmarks for you,” he said. “Each one you pass earns you a new privilege. The first one is clothes. The next will be leaving this room.” His logical tone was free of emotion. “Eventually, we’ll have enough trust and you can leave the house.”
Two thoughts stormed into my mind instantly. He’d let me leave? And . . .
“Trust?” Short, inappropriate laughter burst from me, but then my tone went flat. “You must have a short memory. You just tried to kill me in the bathtub.”
His eyes narrowed a degree. “No, I knew what I was doing. In fact, I’m trying very hard to avoid your death.”
I was more confused and disoriented than I’d ever been in my life, and anxiety constricted my vocal cords. “What the hell does that mean?”
His brow furrowed. “Focus. I’ve been up all night reading. Everything said training can take a long time, maybe even months, but I bet you can do it in under a week.”
“Training?” My heart stumbled. “For what?”
“Your behavior. I’m going to modify it to suit our arrangement.”
Like last night, all I could do was parrot back his keywords. “Arrangement?”
Before he could answer, his cellphone rang. Luka stared at the screen as if considering whether or not to answer. He wasn’t overly expressive, but it was clear he wasn’t happy about who was calling. He put his finger to his lips and gave me a dark glare, warning me to stay quiet, before tapping the screen and pressing it to his ear.
“Hello?” he said, his tone gruff. He began to pace as the conversation began, and Luka looked visibly agitated. “It was . . . fine. I ran into a situation last night—” He finished a circuit of the room and his gaze froze on me. “No, actually, it had nothing to do with him.”
It sounded like he was talking about Vasilije. Was this Luka’s father, and was I the situation?
“It was just a miscommunication between me and a girl. It’s nothing. I’ve handled it.”
I stared down at the dress shirt wrapped on my body, which had become damp from the ends of my hair dripping on it. This was handled? Assault and water torture were handled for Luka Markovic?
“It’s not necessary,” he said quickly, and his expression flooded with exasperation. “Okay, fine.”
He hung up, pocketed the phone, and I was struck by how much older he seemed. He was four, or maybe five years older than I was, physically. But mentally? I felt like we were far apart, and it was shocking. I wasn’t arrogant. I tried to stay humble, but the fact of the matter was I was smart. I was accustomed to being more mature than my peers, even the ones older than I was.
Not Luka. The age gap for once felt like a real gap. As if his world was vastly different from mine.
“First benchmark,” Luka said, his expression guarded. “I know you won’t like it, but understand it’s a means to an end. We build trust and then this whole thing can work.”
“What are you—” My throat closed up as he bent over and retrieved something from the other side of the loveseat. The thick, multicolored cord was in a large loop, waiting to be unfurled.
“There are two ways this can go,” he said, unraveling the rope. “They both end with you tied to the bed. One is easy. You lie down and let me do this. The other is unpleasant.”
The dark cast to his face told me he wasn’t joking in the slightest. My gaze went to the wooden headboard. There were cutouts by the posts where it would be easy for him to tether me down, and I tensed. The thought activated my flight-or-fight response, and I glanced to the door. I’d never get past him.
So I turned, sought his black eyes, and silently begged him not to, but it was a lost cause. Luka wasn’t going to be persuaded.
“You can do this,” he urged. “You’re so fucking perfect, I know you can.”
He wasn’t condescending, but sincere. His misplaced compliment knocked me sideways.
“It’ll only be for a little while,” he added.
I was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and my fatigue made me weak. Inside I issued a sob of self-pity and loathing, but on the outside I stayed numb. Oh, holy hell, I was actually considering it.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I need to leave this room to get you new clothes.”
He waited. If I obeyed, he promised there’d be no consequences. I moved hesitantly to lie down on the bed, resting my towel-dried hair on the pillow.
Luka blinked, visibly surprised by what he was seeing. He’d expected a fight, but I felt broken. I gave up a little. And although I was going to allow it, my muscles solidified as he came cautiously closer. We each watched the other with unease.
Could he feel my trembling as I surrendered my first wrist to him? I pressed my lips together and forced back the tears that threatened in my eyes. His face went serious with concentration as he corded the rope around my wrist and tied the first knot.
“Is it too tight?” he asked.
I hurried to wipe a disobedient tear away with my free hand and struggled to keep it together. “It’s fine.”
He hesitated for a sliver of a second, but then the moment was gone. The rope was threaded through the cutout by the post, and secured. A giant, invisible weight sat on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Again, Luka waited. He could take my free wrist easily now since my other was bound, but it was obvious he thought it was my responsibility to offer it. I did, feeling even more broken inside. I was ashamed to submit to him.
The thick cord wasn’t rough, and he didn’t tie it too tightly, but being restrained was terrifying, and I stared up at him. He looked . . . fascinated. His gaze swept down along my body. As it slowly drifted back up again, his eyes were heated and he shifted on his feet. Was that excitement hiding in his expression?
“Are you scared?” he asked.
It was immediate from me. “Yes.”
“Don’t be. Nothing bad is going to happen to you like this.”
The naïve girl in me wanted to believe him, but I told myself I knew better. He’d turn on me any second and make me regret this foolish decision. I picked a point on the ceiling and focused on it, rather than him, so I could think about the situation. The goal was to build trust, he’d said. I would fake it enough until Luka allowed me to leave, or gave me an opportunity to escape.
He’d told me he was going to get me new clothes, but he hovered at the side of the bed. “Christ, you’re something to look at, tied to a bed, wearing nothing but my shirt to cover your gorgeous body.” His appreciative tone was deep and rich. “We’re going to reach a point where you want this.”
My eyes widened and I turned to him. Was he crazy? “Being tied up? Doubtful.”
I couldn’t get away when he leaned over and cased my head in his hands, holding me still. There was a bizarre electric charge in the air. Him in complete control, me at his mercy.
“I’m going to show you all sorts of things, like how much pleasure this body is capable of. But only,” he dropped his lips to mine in a seductive kiss, “when you submit.”
There was a soft, unspoken threat laced beneath his words. Would he show me how much pain I could take if I fought instead?
Luka stood up and stepped back from the bed, as if needing distance. “I’ll be back in a little while.” His mouth teased a half-smile. “Don’t go running off like last time.”
I swung my head away from him and stared at the wall until I heard the door close behind him.
I blew out an enormous breath, able to breathe now that he’d gone. The rope rubbed against my wrists. I struggled, checking to see if it would give, and when it didn’t . . . I did. I allowed myself to break apart and weep for a minute, before refocusing. There was no way I was going to cast aside my dream of becoming a surgeon. I’d overcome tough obstacles before. Hell, I flourished in the face of a challenge.
You can do this. I wiped my face against my arm and dried my tears.
It was Saturday afternoon, which meant I still had another day to figure this out before my Monday morning class. If I couldn’t get away from him before then, what would happen? Would Avery tell someone I’d gone missing when I didn’t come home tonight? Could I count on her to care, and not be thrilled her socially awkward roommate disappeared?
My professors would notice my absence eventually, but how long would it be before one of them followed up? I didn’t check in much with my parents, either. They knew I was busy, and they were as well, so it was normal to go a week without talking. Emotion forced new tears, but this time it was disappointment in myself. I’d spent so much of my life being proud I was a self-sufficient island. Now I was filled with regret.
No one would miss me.