“Bad Habits” – The Kooks

Emergency lights flicker overhead before they completely black out. One by one, they hum back to life, lighting up all the way to the end of the basement. This is more of a bomb shelter I suppose, filled with beds and at least twenty people. I sit with my back against the cold wall and my legs stretched out on a rickety cot that’s bolted to the floor, watching each of them. Wondering what they did to land on Ronan Cole's shit list.

I bet they didn't trash his car, kill his men, and escape.

A shiver works through me and I gather the scratchy, wool blanket around me. It irritates my skin, but I still smile, because I got a reaction. Ronan handled it the only way he could—by removing me from his presence. I only hope that Gabriel manages to find something, because honestly, I don't know how much longer I can go toe to toe with that man before I snap. I want to kill him, I want to hurt him, I want to end everything that he is and has, but... That raw authority he commands so effortlessly— it's like a magnet to someone like me. He may well be the only man to truly challenge me, and that's a one in a million shot. I watch the way he owns everyone, and I crave his ownership every bit as much as I loathe it. I'm not a woman who believes in love or even lust, but wild animal magnetism... that is Ronan Cole. There's nothing rational or fucking sensible about it, just pure, unadulterated primal need. I want to conquer the alpha male. Simple.

The click of the bolt sliding away from the door catches my attention. The hinges creak as the door slowly opens. Light spills through the doorway, silhouetting the suited form of the devil himself. Ronan snaps his fingers and two men walk into the room, approaching me and grabbing both my arms. I’m forced to my feet, and they walk me to the door, stopping right in front of Ronan. He stares down at me, those cold and completely unforgiving blue eyes locking with mine.

"Ronan." I tilt my head to the side and flick my tangled hair over my shoulder.

His jaw clenches and a muscle ticks before he turns and walks away. The men shove through the doorway, the door slamming shut behind me with a heavy groan. I’m led up the stairwell and into a hall. Squinting against the bright lights, I watch Ronan disappear down a corridor. Finally, after twists and turns, I'm shoved into a room after him.

The men leave, closing the doors, and silence descends like an ominous mist. The furnishings in the room are sparse: a few leather couches and a pool table at the far end. I stand by the door as Ronan walks over to the open fire that's roaring away. He watches it for a moment, tension building like a pending volcanic eruption. He clasps his hands behind his back and crosses the room, taking a seat on one of the leather chairs. There’s a chess board laid out on the small table beside him, and he plucks a piece off the board and studies it. His silence causes my stomach to twist nervously.

"Why do you not value your life?" he asks without looking at me. I can hear the strain in his voice.

"I wouldn't say that I don’t value it." I move over to the fire and stare at the flames as they lick over the logs. "Simply that some things are more important." I glance over my shoulder at him.

"So," he places the chess piece back on the board and smooths his hand down the front of his shirt, "what you are saying, is you wish for me to kill you then?" He smiles.

I shrug one shoulder and take a breath. His face appears calm, but it’s in that eerie calmness that his anger is palpable. I can only hazard a guess that Gabe did what I asked. After all, Ronan doesn't get angry. It's beneath him. It would take something momentous to rile him like this. "No. But make no mistake, I would rather die than roll over and play the helpless bitch."

"Oh,” a sick laugh rumbles from his chest, “you haven't played the helpless bitch since you've been here. But, I will say," he pushes to his feet, "you have played the role of the stupid bitch very well." He stalks toward me, trailing his fingers along the wall beside the fireplace with his eyes locked on mine. "Haven't you?" he says, and my heart goes into a sprint.

"That's a matter of opinion," I say, watching him carefully.

He laughs again as he reaches for something, and before I can even register what he's doing, I feel warm metal across my throat. He pins me to the wall, the reflection of the fire dancing in his eyes. His jaw twitches and the pressure over my throat increases as he leans in toward me. I struggle for breath, grabbing at the metal fire poker he has rammed against my throat, gagging and choking as he pushes me up the wall until my feet are lifted from the floor.

"Is it a matter of opinion, Camilla? Because I would think having your brother take a shipment of mine would be nothing but stupidity. You've had enough time around me to know better, surely?"

My vision blurs and my eyes water. I claw at him; at anything I can reach. My pulse pounds like an unwanted warning alarm in my ears.

A sadistic grin spreads over his lips before he leans next to my ear. "I thought you weren't afraid of death, little kitty," he laughs before snatching the rod away, dropping me to a heap on the floor.

I cough and rub at my bruised throat. "There are better ways to go." I cough again, sucking in several deep breaths. "I can't be held responsible for what Gabriel does."

"You killed my men, ruined one of my cars.” He stares down at me. “And then you obviously contact your brother. This had very little to do with Gabriel." He bends over, grabbing the hair by my scalp and lifting me to my feet. "But it does now..." He drags me to a chair and shoves me down just as the door opens. Igor steps in with an open laptop and places it on the pool table, spinning it around to face me.

There, on the screen, is Gabriel. Both his eyes have swollen shut, and his face is covered in blood. A man punches him with a knuckle duster. Gabe's head snaps to the side, and he spits blood before laughing. "Hey, sis," he smirks.

"You look like shit," I say.

"Eh, fucking Russian putas." A guy punches him in the gut. Gabe bends down where I can’t see him, choking. I'm pretty sure he's throwing up. They keep beating him, and I force myself not to react even though the sight of my brother hurt pulls at something deep inside me. I clench my jaw. This is the life we chose. I have to suck it up.

Ronan stands behind me, his finger slowly tracing over my bruised neck. He leans down by my ear. "I do so love the way bruises look on your tanned skin," he whispers. "So pretty, little kitty." Goosebumps prickle over my body as his warm breath skates over my throat.

A guy shoves Gabriel back into his chair, and grabs a handful of his hair, forcing him to look right at the camera. Right at me. Ronan wraps my hair around his wrist and yanks my head to the side. His lips sweep along the side of my neck, and Gabriel growls on the video. I force myself to remain still. I'm not sure whether it's because I want to pull away from Ronan, or lean into him. I don't trust myself with him...especially not in front of my brother. Ronan's hand creeps over my shoulder, across my collarbone, right to the top of my breast, and then he nibbles at my ear.

"Your pink pussy looked so pretty wrapped around the barrel of my gun the other day." He exhales. "Makes me think I want to fuck you myself."

I stare back at Gabe for a second, hoping he'll understand what I’m about to do before I turn to face Ronan. Our lips brush, and I drop my gaze to his lips. "You won't fuck me, Russian. It threatens your precious control too much," I say before I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip.

Laughing, he traces his tongue down my throat. "I could have one of my men fuck you while I watch. While you scream, begging for me to make them stop."

"Oh, please, Ronan.” I roll my eyes. “No." I place my hand to my chest, and he moves out from behind me.

"Gabriel," he says just before the man on the screen punches my brother again. "You were being such an obedient servant. I'm going to handle your sister while my men take care of you. Next time, I will slit her throat and let the other cartels handle the man who sold out to, how do you say it?" He taps his finger over his chin, "The fucking Russian?"

Igor closes the screen, scoops the laptop off the table, and leaves, closing the door behind him. Ronan turns back to me, smiling as he unfastens his cufflinks and meticulously rolls the white sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows. "Now, how do I punish the fearless?" he asks, taking a seat behind the chess board. He picks up a pawn, twisting it in his hand before places it on the board. "Rape will do nothing, so that's out of the question..." He moves another chess piece. "Torture?" He shrugs. "Overrated, don't you think?"

I cross the room and take a seat opposite him. "I find it effective on the weak."

He cocks a brow before he unfastens the buttons of his shirt. "You're not weak."

"No." I look up at him through my lashes and smile.

"Get undressed," he says.

I stare at him a beat longer. One minute he wants to kill me and now he wants me naked. If it's humiliation he wants then he'll be bitterly disappointed. I stand up and grab the hem of the oversized shirt Igor threw at me when he dumped me in that basement. I'm naked underneath so this is a short strip tease. It drops at my feet and I lift a brow at him before I sit down and cross my legs. "You know, there are much more exciting ways to get a girl naked."

A smug smile inches over his lips as his eyes drag over my naked body. "Do you enjoy sex, Camilla?"

"No.” I flash him an incredulous look. “I'm a fucking virgin."

"Do you prefer it when a man chokes you from behind as he takes you, when he treats you like a dirty slut?" He grins. "I'd imagine you do."

"I won't let a man do anything, but if he can take it..." I narrow my eyes and trail my finger slowly up my naked thigh. "Could you take it, Ronan? I'd imagine you could."

"I take everything I want, Camilla. You should know better." He pushes to his feet and slowly circles behind me, sweeping my hair from my neck. "You should."

"Maybe I just like to have the point driven home." I shouldn't like this; I should hate everything about him. He just had my brother beaten in front of me, but I love the violence of it all. I love the way he exercises his iron-will without mercy. I love the throbbing in my throat, and I can imagine the pretty bruise already forming there. I like that he's marked me in a singular moment where he lost a grip on that precious control. I love having that power over him, the same way he has this power over me.

He grabs my hair, fisting it as he jerks my head back so hard my teeth knock against each other. "Is that why you are so defiant? Hmm?" He leans down, skirting his nose along my neck, inhaling and groaning. "Because you like it rough?"

"Maybe I just like to defy you, to see what you'll do." I turn my face toward him. My scalp screams in protest at the unyielding grip he has on my hair. "Watching you lose control...it would be so beautiful." His breath washes over my face, and I fight back a moan as the intoxicating scent of his cigar-laced clothes wraps around me. I wish he didn't affect me like this, but he does, and I refuse to be a victim to it. He lets go of my hair, and I stand up, rounding the chair and forcing my body against his. "So utterly destructive."

His lips press against the corner of my mouth. "If I lose control, everything around me burns, Krasivaya."

My pulse hammers through my veins. "I do love fire," I whisper. His hands skim along my sides in a feather light touch before he leans in and bites my lip hard enough to draw blood. His tongue sweeps over the damaged flesh and a soft groan rumbles from his chest.

"And I do love the taste of blood." His fingers dig into my hips, and he backs me across the room. I find myself fantasizing about what it would be like to have him fuck me, to have him completely dominate me, ruin me. A man like Ronan Cole, with so much power, such depravity running through his veins—it would surely be an experience of a lifetime. My legs bump against the smooth wood of the pool table and he grabs my waist, lifting me and setting me on the edge. I swallow in an effort to steady my racing pulse.

"I just had your brother tortured.” He steps between my legs, crowding me. “I just choked you against a wall and had you strip for me. You know I'm a monster and yet, I know you're soaking wet for me right now, Camilla."

I glide my hand up the front of his chest and around the back of his neck. "What does that make me?" I ask, succumbing to my addiction and nipping his jaw.

"Sick." He rubs his lip over my cheek, his hold on my hips tightening. "So very sick, little kitty."

My fingers dig into his neck until I'm sure my nails bite into his skin. The expensive material of his shirt brushes against my bare breast, and my nipples tighten painfully. Our lips are so close; I could tilt my chin and I'd be kissing him. I press my free hand against his lower stomach and slide my way down until I'm cupping a very big, very hard cock. I scratch my nails over the material of his pants and a low rumble works up his throat as his dick twitches.

"This is the only true power there is, Ronan," I say on a smile.

A knowing grin shapes his lips as his fingers dance over my breasts, my stomach, my thigh. I fight to keep my legs from falling shamelessly open and inviting him in, because I want him to touch me. And I hate him all the more for it. I keep my eyes locked on his, watching the lust swirl within them. One of his warm fingers swipes over my clit and I bite down on my lip, stifling the moan. His stance widens between my thighs, his gaze falling to my pussy before it slowly moves back to my face.

"Is it?" He whispers, shoving his fingers so deep and hard inside me that my entire body is thrust back onto the pool table. My hands knock the balls across the felt when I catch myself. His fingers bend and flex inside me, coaxing a moan before he pulls his hand free. "That is power," he says on a smirk and slips his fingers between his full lips. "Mm." He arches a brow. “Now, get dressed for dinner.” And with that, he turns and leaves the room.

I fall back against the felt tabletop, my lungs straining to catch a full breath. Fuck Ronan Cole. I don't know how much longer I can do this with him.