“Hook, Line & Sinker” – Royal Blood

The door clicks shut and I bite back a frustrated groan. My shoulders ache, my neck stings, and my pussy throbs. God, he's an asshole. I glance around the room, looking for anything I can use to get out of this damn rope. I shove the lamp off the bedside table, watching as the ceramic base shatters. Glass dusts the floor and I crouch down, pushing my hands into the top of the broken lamp base. My teeth snap together when the sharp edges shred the side of my hand. As if I haven't bled enough today. I awkwardly rub the rope against the jagged porcelain, feeling it catch and loosen bit by bit. I smile when the rope finally pops free. My hands are covered in blood, and I have to pluck tiny bits of ceramic out of my hands and wrists. Ronan can go fuck himself—and he can watch me fuck myself. Not allowed, please! I walk to the corner of the room, hop up on the dresser, and adjust the camera until I’m pretty sure it's focused on the bed.

I strut back across to the bed and slowly slide my lace thong over my hips and down my legs. Blood from my hands and wrists streak my skin, but I don’t care. If anything, I like it. And I’m sure that sick bastard will like it, too. Lying on the bed, I spread my legs wide and angle myself toward that camera with its blinking red light. Ronan will probably never see this, but I’ll pretend he will. The thought of Ronan sitting in some dark room watching me stroke myself while I’m covered in blood...well, it shouldn't turn me on as much as it does.

I trail my bloodied hand along the inside of my thigh. As soon as my finger brushes over my pussy I throw my head back and close my eyes. I push my fingers inside, and imagine they’re Ronan’s. I remember the way he brutally slammed his hand into me, pushing his thumb into my ass like a conquistador wishing to soil every part of me. And oh, how I want him to.

He's right. I like the depravity of it, the wrongness. I fuck myself, pulling my fingers out and swirling over my clit until my back arches off the bed. My mind conjures filthy, erotic images of Ronan owning me, taking what he wants. A moan slips from my lips as a shudder tears from my body. I imagine Ronan fucking me, cutting me and a wave of heat drowns me. I come with his name on my lips, letting it all loose, because I want him to hear. I want him to know what he missed, what his precious control is costing him. I lie here gasping and panting and hating myself a little bit, because I've always been drawn to the things I shouldn't. My father always said it would get me killed. Little did he know; it was coming close to death so many times that made me crave the danger. There’s a sense of invincibility that comes with surviving things that would break most men. Ronan Cole is a destroyer, and I want him to ruin me, but I want to be his mutual destruction. Our little game of power is nothing more than a battle of wills, and I'm not sure if I'm winning or losing.

I don’t want to lose…

I push off the bed, go to the bathroom, and turn the shower taps to hot. A small cloud of steam billows over the shower door, and I step under the spray. The hot water feels like lava on my newly branded neck. I cannot believe he branded me like a breeding cow. I wash the blood from my body, remaining under the water until the room is full of steam—until I know that any hidden cameras will be completely fogged in mist, then I get out. I dry myself off and slip into the thick robe hanging on the door before I go to the toilet and remove the lid, reaching inside. My fingers brush the edge of the phone placed on the pipe inside, and I take it out, tucking it into the folds of my robe. I quickly cross the bedroom and step onto the balcony. My entire body trembles against the cold as I press a shaking finger against the power button. The screen illuminates and I wait a few seconds. I’ve checked it every day, waiting for my ‘friend’ to tell me what they want, to give me a way out. This phone has become a warped form of hope. The screen flashes with a text message. My heart picks up as I read over it: In the office, there is a painting of the Khimki forest, behind it you will find a safe. The code is 030565. Inside you will find a small black USB drive. Replace it with the one you have. Await further instructions.

The one I have? I don't have... I turn the phone off, snapping it shut. I tuck it into the folds of my robe again and take it back to the bathroom, placing it back in the tank, propped against the pipe so it doesn't get wet. I rush over to the chest of drawers, grabbing my clutch and glancing inside. Well, this is some James Bond shit. There, in the bottom of the bag, is a black USB stick. How do these people keep putting shit in my bag? How the hell do they know there's a safe, or the code? This must be Ronan. But then, it's almost so obvious that I don't think it is. Playing childish little games to catch me isn’t his style. It's beneath him. Whoever this is, they must have someone in Ronan's house. I can't help but smile at the idea that Ronan, lord of all he surveys, is being fucked over by one of his own. I just know how much that would burn him.

I lie on my bed, thinking through all the ways this could possibly bite me in the ass. Even if I do manage to get into his office and to the safe to swap the sticks...what if I get caught with it? Ronan is going to kill me eventually, so what do I have to lose? The thought should bring a sense of recklessness with it, but it doesn’t. I'm not completely without sense, I fear Ronan. I fear his brutality just as much as I crave it, and I wonder, what would he do to me? There are worse fates than death—I’m aware of that—and I have no doubt that Ronan knows every one of them. I keep waiting for the moment when he snaps and unleashes the beast I know lingers just beneath all that refinery. I've pushed him, but none of that would compare to stealing from him, deceiving him. Helping an apparent enemy. But then, aren't I the enemy? His enemy is my friend. This is what I've wanted all along, to take him down from the inside.

I'm going to do it. I'm going to risk everything on the word of a stranger I will likely never meet, all to destroy the man who took my power from me.

It’s past eleven when I leave my room, quietly pulling the door closed behind me. I tiptoe down the stairs, and I quickly make my way through the dark house. The occasional hum of voices drifts down the hallway, and I pause outside one of the rooms when I hear Ronan’s voice. The door is barely cracked and I peek through. Ronan’s sitting on the sofa with his back to the hall, a cloud of smoke sifting through the air. Another man sits in the chair across from him in a three-piece suit looking every bit as rich as Ronan, but lacking the raw power that Ronan seems to physically breathe. There’s the distinct low rumble of his laugh. Good. Hopefully that will keep him occupied for a minute.

I carry on to his office, my pulse drumming as I try the handle. The door isn't locked and I think that's stupid, but then again, who would be insane enough to break into Ronan Cole's office? Light from the hallway spills into the room, and I catch a glimpse of that painting right behind the desk when I step in and close the door behind me. The room plunges into darkness except for the moonlight shining through the windows. In two corners of the room, those little red lights blink. Of course, there would be cameras in here. I have no choice but to tuck my hair into the collar of my robe and hope they can't make out anything in the dark. If I tamper with those cameras, I'll have Ronan's men up my ass in a heartbeat. There’s just enough light coming from the window that I can safely cross the room, stopping in front of the painting. I hook my fingers under the frame, and it swings away from the wall revealing a metal safe. There's a keypad with a blinking green light. With shaking fingers, I type out the code: 030565. The safe beeps and the door clicks open. I can't believe that worked! Inside are folders, several stacks of Rubles, a phone, and a USB stick. I slip the other USB from my pocket and swap them over before slamming the safe shut. The lock clicks with a beep, and I move the painting back in place.

My chest buzzes, my stomach knots, and I hurry out of the room and down the hall. I’m nearly to the foyer when Ronan steps out of the living room, and almost right into me. My heart leaps in my chest and adrenaline fires through my veins. Oh, god, he's caught me. The USB stick in my pocket feels like an atomic bomb ready to wipe me out. I force a smile on my face. "Ronan, I was just looking for you." His eyes study my face and fuck; I swear he can see the lie as clear as day.

I'm so screwed.