Igor deposits me on Ronan's bed. "Russian asshole's, all of you!" I shout.

Igor leaves and Ronan just stands there with his arms folded over his chest and a smug smile on his face. "Defiant savage," he winks before stripping to his boxers and climbing into bed.

God, I hate him, but I want him. Always. Groaning, I roll over and tug the covers away from him before straddling his body. He cocks a brow. I smile. "You like me savage. Now..." I shove my hand down the front of his boxers and grip his hard cock.

He snatches my hand away from him and tosses it to the bed. "I do not fuck inebriated women. It's..." he gives me a once over, his eyes narrowing, "distasteful."

I laugh. "Not if you've fucked them before, it doesn't count. I want you." I trail my fingers down his defined stomach.

"And here I was, thinking you were above groveling for such primal pleasure." He smirks and I'm tempted to slap that look clean off his face.

"Ah," I wrap my hand around his throat and inch my face toward his, "but if not for primal pleasure, then why are we here, Ronan?"

"Desperation does not suit you," he sighs as he rolls away.

He asked me about the darkest parts of my life and I told him, yet got nothing in return. I'm every bit as much his toy now as I ever was, I think as I yank open the bedside drawer and take out the knife he keeps there. His rejection stings more than it should and his infinite control irritates me. He thinks himself so strong... I press the tip of the blade to the hollow of my throat just as he turns to face me.

"I wouldn't..." he warns.

Using the very tip of the blade, I scratch it down my sternum in a burning trail—just enough to draw a little blood... A feral growl rumbles up Ronan's throat before he pins me to the bed with his forearm as his chest presses against mine. I can feel his heart pounding through his chest. Hard. Uneven. He moves his mouth to my neck, swiping his tongue along the fresh cut. "As much as I want to fuck you right now," he whispers by my ear, his cock grinding against me, "you don't deserve it."

I feel his wavering restraint before he shoves me into the mattress and stands, grabbing his robe from the stool at the end of the bed and leaving the room. The door slams shut behind him, and I pick up the lamp from the bedside table, hurling it at the closed door with a scream. I try to grapple with what just happened, but my mind is swimming with vodka and I can't think straight. My pussy throbs and my pulse races. Blood trails down my chest, soaking the material of my dress. I strip out of the clingy material and lie naked on the bed, allowing the soft sheets to caress my skin. When the blood starts to trickle down my sides, I smile because I can just picture Ronan's face when he sees his blood-stained sheets. Fuck him.

I roll over and groan at the pulse reverberating around my skull. Light pours through the huge window, and I wince against it like a vampire. I try to recall anything from last night and am met with the sobering memory of Sebastian. My rage. Me killing him. And then...vodka. Lots of vodka. Oh god.

I stumble out of Ronan's bed, staring down at the freshly scabbed cut decorating my chest. Dried blood coats my skin and Ronan's expensive sheets. Bits of the smashed lamp lay scattered over the plush carpet by the door, and Ronan is nowhere to be seen.

There's a knock on the door. "Mr. Cole requests your presence in the dining room," Igor says. Really? I'm still getting Igor messages.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumble, staggering into the bathroom. I need a shower and lots of coffee.

By the time I make it downstairs, my stomach is churning and my headache is ten times worse. I find Ronan reading a paper in the dining room. He gives me a fleeting glance as I drag out the chair across from him, sit down, and place my forehead on the table.

"Have we regained our sense of control?" he tuts.

I lift my middle finger.

"Refined as always I see." I hear him flip the page of the paper.

The aroma of fresh coffee surrounds me, and I lift my head from the table just as one of the maids pours me a mug. I smile at her like she's the virgin Mary herself before I take a sip and hold the beloved cup close to me. "Did we fuck last night, because really Ronan, the amount of blood—"

"No." He glares over the top of the paper.

I frown. "I'm not even going to ask. I remember very little, so therefore, any questionable behavior technically didn't happen...by my recollection." I take another gulp of coffee.

"I see..."

"You're a delight this morning." I scoot my chair back and stand, bring my coffee with me as I head for the door.

"Come back here, Camilla."

Rolling my eyes, I turn around. "I can't do funerals or dinners, or anything that involves people right now."

"Was it worth it?" He folds the paper and places it in front of him on the table.

"If I could remember, I'd tell you, but seeing as I was here," I spread my arms wide, "I'm going with no." He crooks his finger and I hesitantly walk back to the table, stopping beside his chair.

"You allowed your emotions to overtake you." His gaze drags over my body, a hint of disgust snarling his lip. "You allowed them to make you vulnerable."

I don't realize I'm clenching my fists until my nails bite into my palm. "I am not vulnerable!"

He smirks, his eyes fluttering shut for only a moment. "Don't lie to yourself, Camilla. I'm only trying to help you."

"What, would you have me, completely cold? Even in the face of the man who killed my family?" I frown. "I'm not you, Ronan."

"Cold to those who harmed you; who want to harm you." He pushes up from his chair. "By having a reaction, you give them power." He leans down by my ear. "Even after you killed him, Sebastian still held power over you." I drop my gaze to the floor as a strange sense of shame washes over me. He grips my jaw and forces me to look at him, his eyes studying me as always.

The truth is, no one has ever helped me aside from Gabe. Normally I resent handouts, but Ronan gave me the unattainable: revenge. I buckle under his scrutiny as the full gravity of what he did for me sinks in. And so begins my slow descent into hell, a slippery slope straight into the arms of the devil.

He turns his back to me, taking a seat at the table once again.

"Thank you," I whisper. "For finding him."

"We have a ball to attend this evening. Be ready by eight." He grabs the newspaper and pops it open, shielding his face from me. His cold reaction throws me for a second, so I turn on my heel and walk out of the room.

I'm not sure I'll ever understand him.