There were fuzzy things in her brain, as if each thought was covered in dust that blurred the ideas and made it difficult to brush clean. Sound filtered into her head and she realized she was humming again, a half-chewed hangnail hung on one finger that she bit off to keep from tearing it to the quick.

I’m losing my mind… she thought, and the pulse of need between her thighs only confirmed it. He was horrible. A nightmare wrapped in a beautiful package, and some twisted part of her craved him. Some tingling place at the base of her spine woke up when she remembered his hands, the belt, the clips, the way he overpowered her when he came for her. Over and over.

That part of her was evil.

She had to fight it.

Swallowing, Lianna leaned forward and picked up the plastic cup, sipping water carefully before she set it back down. One, two, three, five, eight red lights. Eight cameras. Eight like the number of legs on a spider, and this was the web. This room a cocoon of silk he’d wrapped her in so he could devour her slowly. Empty her out. Bit by bit. Destroying her at his leisure until she was a simple husk of herself.

And, worse, she was letting him.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself, a harsh hiss. Where was the girl who walked into meetings with her head up? Where was the woman who had presented her Bachelor’s thesis to a bunch of smug professors who had doubted her, who had taken one look at her and sneered? The same woman who had then impressed them with her discussion of Titian, and Caravaggio, and Gentileschi? She was still that person.

Even naked and bruised and welted and violated, she was still smart, could still be strong.

The frigid water settled in Lianna’s stomach with a shiver that made her sit up, pressing her spine into the concrete wall. A tiny flicker of strength surfaced in the dimness of her thoughts, the color of Titian red. It brushed across the inside of her mind, called her forward to claim her strength. To be brave. To be unbreakable. To seek vengeance.

She would not be a damsel in distress, a princess waiting for a rescue.

Staring at the door, Lianna thought of her captor. The mask, the hard body, the hard— With a shake of her head, she took a deep breath, and drew strength from some unknown well inside her. She had to act or she was going to dissolve in this cocoon.

“Hey!” she shouted, glancing up at one of the cameras.

Why are you summoning the villain back?

“I want to know what you want! What are you doing? Why do you want my father to sell these companies?” As she rattled off questions, emptying her brain of the twisted cloud of thoughts, the camera lights started to tick off one by one. Her muscles tensed, fear zipping up her spine, but the tingle was there too. A warm, buzzing, hungry sensation in her lower belly.

Stop it. You don’t want him. You just want answers.

No more red eyes staring down, cameras off, but the lights at least stayed on.

It was only a moment later when the grating sound of the metal lock filled the room, and then he was there. No shirt, no gloves, no pants, no shoes. He was in black boxer briefs, molded to him so closely he may as well have left them behind, and — of course — the damnable mask. Every tanned inch of him was power, and she stared as he leaned his head against the doorframe. “You called, princess?”

“What—” She jerked back because there was a warm, rumbling slur to his voice. “What the fuck? Are you drunk?”

“I’m celebrating.” He stepped into the room, a large bottle of some dark liquor in his other hand. The door snapped shut beside him, but he barely twitched.

“Celebrating what?”

“Your father is finally taking me seriously, and I am pruning the tree of his empire branch by branch.” Raising one hand, he mimed scissors cutting through the air. “Snip, snip, snip.”

“What do you mean?”

The man had let his gaze drift to the side, but he looked back at her when she spoke. “I’m taking everything from your family. Just like I promised.”

“Promised who?” she whispered and he walked towards her with slow steps, his bare feet padding across the floor, the muscles in his legs and abs shifting in time with his movements. She fought the urge to run, driving her nails into her palms to stay seated.

No more games.

“You are beautiful.” He stopped close to her and set the bottle down on the floor, lowering into a crouch. “Even more so than you are on TV. I think it’s the fire inside you. You always look like a lifeless doll on television. But… you’re not.”

“Not what?” She dodged his hand as he reached out to touch her cheek.

“A lifeless doll,” he answered flatly. A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he moved and sat on the other end of the thin mattress. “I thought you would be.”

“A doll?”

“Empty. His puppet.” His words made her forehead crease, her brows drawing closer together, but her eyes stayed on the bottle.

Keep him talking.

“Why would I be empty? Why would I be a puppet?”

“Because of him. I don’t know how you exist at all. You shouldn’t exist. You shouldn’t be… you.” He shook his head slowly and shuffled backwards until his shoulders met the wall.

“I don’t understand.” Lianna watched as his eyes closed through the holes in the mask, and she carefully inched forward.

“Of course you don’t, princess. You’re so blind. So innocent.” The words were slurring more, and she reached for the bottle just in front of his feet, her hands closing around the neck of it, still warm from his touch.

“Innocent?” she asked softly, trying not to alert him to her movements as she lifted the bottle silently from the floor and moved to her knees.

“Like an angel, like he stole you from heaven. I don’t know how you’re like this, I never expected you to—” His hand caught her wrist as she swung the bottle hard towards his head, and pain shot up her arm as he twisted his grip sharply. A yelp escaped her as the bottle dropped, undamaged, to the mattress.

Shit.

Tawny brown eyes stared out from the mask, somehow angry even through the watery haze of the alcohol. “Princess,” he growled, and she channeled all of her terror and rage, shouting as she reared back and hit his arm hard, breaking his grip on her wrist.

As soon as she was free, she threw herself backwards, almost tripping over her own feet, but she recovered and rushed for the door. Her hand closed around the handle and ripped it open in a single breath. Brighter light, more concrete, but she didn’t care. She was out of that damn room, out of the web.

Lianna chose a direction and ran.

The hall ended in metal doors and she was maybe fifteen feet away when a sharp jerk at her hair almost yanked her completely off her feet. Somehow she turned the fall into a simple stumble, smacking into the wall, but he didn’t wait as he secured his grip in her hair more fully. “That was not smart, princess.”

Forcing her to bend forward, he tried to pull her back with him, but she dug her heels into the concrete floor and threw her weight to the side. The ripping sting at her scalp wasn’t enough to stop her, and he stumbled with her. His balance imperfect, he wavered on his feet, and they struggled for control. She hit his chest, clawed at his bare hand in her hair, but he was impossibly strong. Eventually he managed to knock her leg out from under her and she landed hard on her knees. With uneven steps, he half-dragged her back towards the room, tears stinging her eyes as the fierce ache ran down her neck, but still she raged. “Let me go. Let me the fuck up! I won’t be a fucking pawn for you anymore!”

Collapsing to the floor just before the heavy door to her prison, she forced him to stop short. He turned on her with a guttural, animalistic growl. “Get up.”

“No!” she shouted. She wouldn’t bow to him anymore, wouldn’t be his pawn, his tool. This evil, black masked, bastard. Stubbornly she fixed herself to the floor, her legs out to her side so that if he wanted to move her, he would have to do it bodily. She would not walk, or crawl, back into her own prison.

“Do you have any idea what I can do to you?” he threatened, but she laughed bitterly.

“Are you fucking kidding?! I’m covered in bruises from you! Welts! I ALREADY KNOW WHAT YOU DO!” Turning, she tried to kick at his leg, but he barely grunted and she screamed in frustration as she reached back to dig her nails into his bare hands. Air hissed between his teeth as she tore his skin, but it was pure victory when he released her and she scrambled backwards. Breathing heavily, she took in his huge, broad form, knowing that another dash for the doors was useless. “What the fuck do you want from us? Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Haven’t I made it clear?” He tilted that flat, expressionless mask as he looked down at her. “I want to use you to destroy him.”

“I won’t let you. I’m done.”

“You are so blind, princess.”

“Stop calling me that!” The scream was a combination of all of her rage, her shame, her pain, but he used that moment to lunge forward and grab her arm, hauling her forcibly back into the room. Instead of throwing her to the floor, he turned and lifted her, pinning her to the wall, his body flush to hers.

Forcing a knee between her thighs, he spread her as she tried to push his chest back. “What bothers you so much, princess? That I call you that, or that Daddy wanted to keep you his little princess forever?”

“Fuck off!”

In an instant he cupped her ass and lifted her from the floor, his hips splitting her legs until she had no choice but to wrap them around his waist. The tingling hum at the base of her spine ushered a surge of shame through her system. She was not enjoying this, didn’t want this, she was not—

“Tell me… if I touch you right now, will you be wet?” His voice was a low purr that amplified the sparkling heat inside her and she hated it, hated him, and hated most of all that it was true.

“Let go of me.”

“You’re wet. I know it. You always are for me.” The man leaned forward, brushing the mask across her shoulder as he nuzzled her neck. He took a deep breath against her skin, a groan escaping him as he pressed his hips forward, the growing hardness unmistakable. “You need it as much as I do.”

For a moment her hands were still braced against his chest, trying uselessly to push him away, to ignore his words, but then a thought struck like lightning. Before the fear could stop her, she reached up and ripped the mask over his head in a single, fluid motion. Tawny brown eyes immediately went wide beneath sculpted dark brows. He had the features of an angel, too beautiful to be so evil. A seraph with high cheekbones, the beginning shadow of a beard covering his cheeks sloping towards lips parted in shock. The mask hung at her side, gripped white-knuckle tight in shaking fingers, as his handsome face contorted with rage.

He caught her by the throat, slamming her head back against the wall as he snarled. “What the fuck have you done?”

“No more hiding,” she hissed at him, and his eyes danced over her face.

“That’s what you want? You want to see me?” Releasing her throat, he pulled her away from the wall, grabbing her hips, and he almost stumbled as he walked them both towards the mattress. Dropping her onto it, he followed and pushed his way roughly between her thighs, miming a thrust. “You want this?”

“No! I—”

“Are you really going to try and lie to me right now?” His hand slipped between them, and an instant later he swept up her cleft. Soaking wet. Slick with the damning evidence of her twisted urges, and she cursed herself. Damaged, broken, wired wrong. Catching her legs, he pushed her knees towards her chest and then spread her wide, sliding down until his shoulders held her open — and then he dragged his tongue through her wetness in a confident swipe.

Oh God.

The pure shock of it made her lift her hips. It had nothing to do with the tingling buzz at the base of her spine, or the way his thumbs dug into the tender flesh of her thighs to bare her completely for him.

“Yes…” he groaned against her, the low vibration of his voice making her shiver, but all she could see was the tousle of dark hair atop his head as he started to devour her.

“Please, stop! I don’t want this! STOP!” Lianna pleaded in desperation, because no matter what her mind thought, she knew what her body felt. Pleasure stormed through her like an invading army, pushing its way past her borders, starting a war inside that she was ill-equipped to win.

“So. Many. Lies.” Each word was punctuated by a deviously long trace of his tongue that ended with a torturous flick over her clit. Just as she opened her mouth to beg for him to stop, he focused in on that bundle of nerves, sending her into gasping moans that cleared the words from her mind.

When she tried to arch her back, to lift her hips against him, he simply pressed her flat with the strength in his arms, pinning her exactly where he wanted her.

Why had she ever thought she could win?

He concentrated all his attentions on her clit until she was a whimpering mess. There was no relief from the constant, vibrant teases that had her on edge in minutes. In one moment he would bring her to the very brink, until she thought there was no way to hold back the pending orgasm… and then he would slow, lapping at her pussy in long strokes of his tongue that eased her racing heart. Then she would inch back, slowly calming until she felt somewhat in control of her body again, but then he would take it back.

It was a twisted game, one that made it clear he could satisfy or ruin her at his leisure. The various bruises across her front and back, around her wrists and ankles, were testament enough. But this? This taunting amusement of bringing her to the cliff, holding her over until her hips were bucking against her will, seeking completion, this was pure torture. Pure evil.

Tension coiled inside her, forcing her muscles to a painful tightness, and she couldn’t take it.

“I want to come, please!” The plea leapt from her lips before she had even thought it through, and he looked up from between her thighs, his chin wet with her.

“Say it again.” Spreading her further, he held her knees painfully apart, straining the muscles as he leaned up. The hard outline of his erection was evident behind his boxers, at the bottom of his carved abs. Forced to look at him, she couldn’t make her tongue shape the words. With a low chuckle he moved up her body until he was rubbing himself slowly, deliberately against her. A wicked promise of completion as sparks lit their way up her spine. “Beg me.”

“No.” Lianna shook her head, whimpering as he started to rock. Teasingly slow, but he never got her close enough that she could push herself over with a shift of her hips, and after a moment she realized she was effectively grinding her clit against the hard ridge of his cock in desperation. “Damn you!”

“I’m already damned, princess. Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Oh God… I hate myself,” she confessed on a whisper as the arousal turned to fire in her blood, and he laughed, his lips tracing over her collarbone as he slowly rolled his hips above her in a mockery of what she needed.

“Give in. Say it.”

She groaned, winding her fingers in her hair to pull at it like she might reactivate the section of her brain that could still function. The part not drowning in this primal need to be overpowered, to be taken by the villain between her thighs.

“If it helps, I kind of hate you too. But a hate fuck will still scratch the itch.” He grinned down at her, and the devilish smirk somehow undid her. There was nothing good in this situation, nothing redeemable, but somewhere in the chaos, the torture, the nightmare of it all — she’d lost the ability to care.

“I want to come.”

“And I want to fuck you,” he growled and moved against her.

Clenching her jaw tight, she relaxed her thighs, letting his weight settle over her, and he nuzzled under her chin, his hands sliding up her sides to hold her arms gently above her head.

“I want to hear you say it, princess.”

“Say what?” she snapped at him, bucking her hips up towards the hardness between her thighs still infuriatingly encased behind cloth, but he growled down at her. A wordless chastisement.

“Princess…” He nipped at her breast. “Say it or I’ll leave you high and dry. Well, high and very, very wet anyway.”

“I can’t.” The words were a whine, and he laughed softly as his tongue traced her skin, his hips starting to pick up a rhythm that was more torment than pleasure.

“Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to make you come, princess? Just nod for me.”

It was exactly what she could have never said aloud and even though she cursed herself, hated her weakness — she nodded. A satisfied groan escaped his lips as he propped himself on an elbow to shove his boxers out of the way. She caught one glimpse of his hard shaft before she forced her eyes back towards the ceiling, not even fighting as he lined up and thrust hard.

Instantly, achingly full.

The gasp was half shame and half satisfaction, but he wasn’t waiting for a second invitation. He swung his hips back and slammed into her again, and again, and her hips met him every time. Low grunts of effort left his parted lips, but he nuzzled against her neck like a lover. His mouth tracing firebrands of nipping kisses over her skin, damning her with each thrilling pulse of pleasure from between her thighs.

“Why?” she whispered, biting back the moans as he groaned above her.

“Just accept it, accept that this is what you wanted. This is what you’ve always needed.”

The painful truth of it silenced her, and those visions of strength, of being unbreakable, were shaken to their core. Something about him seemed to burrow under all her defenses, all her well-formed logic, all her intellect and day-to-day strength, and it left her bare and raw.

Each thrust stoked the growing fire inside her, the one that had her spreading her legs wider, that kept her from struggling when he forced one knee to her chest to send the next thrust even deeper, making her ache. Making her want him to do it again, because with the pain came some kind of absolution for the pleasure she was taking. If it hurt, it cancelled out the sparkling heat that wound its way up her spine, blurring the thoughts in her brain until all that mattered was that he would keep going. Keep pushing her towards that intolerable horizon she knew was waiting.

And it was close. Too close.

“Please,” she begged on a hoarse whisper.

Give me more. Give me enough to end this. Give me oblivion.

His fist found its way into her hair, winding until his grip forced her head back, baring her neck to him like some sacrificial lamb. He nipped at her like he might tear her throat out, but his teeth pressed into the place where her shoulder began instead, and as the sharp shock of pain crashed into the swell of pleasure — she came.

It was lightning and thunder in the same breath, the world shaking under her and inside her all at once. She cried out something senseless, digging her nails into his back to leave deep furrows in their wake, and then he growled low against her skin and joined her. His cock kicked deep, and she barely flinched when she felt the warm rush of seed filling her, pulse after pulse.

Damned.

Their breaths were a cacophony, his teeth lifting from her skin to leave the soreness behind, but even that quickly faded into the myriad of bruises and welts that covered her. A map of their interactions painted across her skin in reds and deep purples, blues, and fading sickly greens. Her body was a book she couldn’t bring herself to read, to even acknowledge.

Traitor.

“Fuck…” he hissed as his cock slid from her, but he stayed poised above her, tawny brown eyes finding hers in the aftershock of what she’d done. “You are so beau—”

“No, no, no…” Tears threatened to choke her as he froze, and she swallowed them down, breaking the stare to turn away from him.

“What is it, princess?” There was a hint of humor in the languid tone of his voice, the sated beast had returned. Luxuriating in her pain, in her shame.

“I can’t believe I—” The words wouldn’t come and she groaned and covered her face with her hands. “I hate this, I hate you. I hate myself,” she whispered.

He laughed quietly as he pushed himself off her, and then she felt him settle on the mattress near her legs. “Take this, it helps.”

Peeking between her hands, she saw the offered liquor bottle and rallied herself into a sitting position, feeling the wetness between her thighs like a needling reminder of her weakness. Grabbing the bottle without another word, she unscrewed the top and poured a hearty amount into her mouth. The burn almost made her choke, but she swallowed hard and then coughed, her eyes watering as the fiery, sweet rum hit her stomach like a bomb going off. Remnants of the explosion immediately crashed into her bloodstream, her body taking it in as if it had been waiting for it, and before she’d opened her eyes again she felt the first rush. “You’re right,” she rasped, and took another hard drink, feeding the fire. “This is what I needed.”

“Okay, share.” He took the bottle back and tilted it up, swallowing with no visible reaction to the burn.

“I want more.”

“Of me?” His lips formed a lopsided, cocky smile, and she rolled her eyes and turned away from his angelic face. There was a throbbing pulse between her thighs, the lingering sparks of her orgasm refusing to be ignored as her nervous system tried to wind down.

Too much adrenaline. Too much pleasure. Too much fear. Too much futile rage.

“Will you just tell me why you’re doing this?” There wasn’t even desperation in her voice anymore, she felt hollowed out by all the torment, the mind-games, the violence. When he offered her the liquor again, moving the bottle into her line of sight, she took it gladly.

“You know why. It’s all to destroy your father, and — I might add — it’s working.”

“But why him? Why us? My father has never done anything to deserve—”

The man scoffed hard, a scowl passing over his lips as he looked away from her, snatching the bottle back. “Don’t be naïve, princess, we both know he’s not as perfect as he pretends to be.”

“He has never hurt me.” The accusation from before popped up in her mind, and she denied it again. He had always been a good father, sometimes absent, sometimes distant, but always good.

Except he let you suffer here, lectured you about selling companies while this beautiful villain hurt you over and over again. Didn’t that count as hurting?

“Then I guess you really do live a charmed life.” Just as the masked villain went to take a drink, she took the bottle from his hand and drank instead.

“He’s a good man,” she insisted, but she wasn’t sure whom she was really trying to convince. Him, or herself.

Selling a company takes time, Lianna.

“Do you really believe that?” There was open disgust in his voice, and she looked over at him, finally able to study his features. His dark brows were pulled together, his lips parted as soft breaths moved in and out. Too gorgeous to be so evil, so full of hate.

“Yes. I do,” she answered, though it felt like a lie.

He huffed out a bitter laugh and stood, popping his boxers back into place, then he held out his hand for the bottle, mute and sullen. When she didn’t offer it, he growled and turned on his heel, moving to the door in furious silence. The lock grinding into place removed any hope that he’d forget in his distracted state, but she still had the liquor — and that was better than anything else he’d given her. Even better than the lights, or the toiletries. She could still feel her pulse between her thighs, her clit pounding out the rhythm of her heartbeat, and what small, sane piece of her could still feel guilt was wracked by it.

Fortunately, there were still several inches of rum in the bottle.

A few minutes later, when the lock on the door shifted again, there was one less inch in the bottle and she was rapidly heading towards drunk. The man hadn’t bothered to gather the mask, but he did drop a stack of photos onto the floor. They scattered, some flipping over and sliding across the concrete. “Why don’t you look at these and tell me what you think of daddy dearest, princess.”

She didn’t even open her mouth to speak, cradling the bottle against her bare chest as she stared numbly at him. He waited, as if she were supposed to have some line in this little play they were acting out, but then he shook his head and left.

The door shut, locked again, and she looked at the scattered pictures for a few minutes before she slowly moved towards them, gathered them, and then found her way back to the mattress. With another drink, ignoring the wetness lingering between her thighs, she flipped the first one until it was upright.