Page 4 of Cruel Master

I swallow hard, my heart thundering against my ribs.

“Here she is, sir. As promised.” My kidnapper’s voice comes from behind me, and I jump as I swirl around to face him. He’s standing right behind me with his hands on the back of the couch. I sit on the edge of the cushions to put as much distance between me and his hands as possible.

“She is unharmed?” My head swivels back around to stare at the other man, my heart fluttering in my chest like a caged bird as he takes slow steps toward me. His voice is smooth as leather yet just as cutting.

I don’t know where to go now. I’m trapped between these two men. If I press back, I’ll be moving closer to my kidnapper. If I stay put, this man who emanates danger gets ever closer to me.

“Not a scratch on her,” the voice behind me assures him. “Maybe just a little woozy from the injection.”

The suited man stops mid-step, his eyes cutting sharply up to the man standing behind me. “You drugged her?” his voice sounds lethal, and another shiver runs up my spine at the cold anger in it.

“How else was I going to get the bitch here without a scratch on her?” The voice behind me is dripping with sarcasm and annoyance at being questioned.

I can’t pull my eyes from the man towering before me. He’s less than five steps away from me, and I feel his presence wrapping around me like a living thing.

It’s hot and potent and all-consuming.

It fucking terrifies me.

I see his eyes flare with rage, the thinning of his lips, the slight tightening in his jaw.

Warning bells go off in my head. I wonder if the man standing behind me senses it too.

I watch the suited man warily, and despite how closely I’m staring at him, I still don’t see it before it happens.

I don’t even register what’s happened until the loud pop is resounding in my ears and I hear a heavy thump behind me.

I blink, my eyes focusing in on the smoking gun in the suited man’s hand. He pulled it out so fast I couldn’t even process it.

I feel something wet hit the back of my hand, like the first sprinkle of rain.

I look down and see the photographer’s lifeless eyes staring back at me where he fell draped over the couch at a crooked angle. Half of his head is blown off, blood and brain matter oozing out.

More droplets fall onto my hand, and I scream when I realize it’s blood—my kidnapper’s blood.

I scramble to stand up and get as far away from the frightening corpse as I can, but my legs are shaking and fall out from under me. My entire body goes weak as I collapse.

The last thing I see is blue—blue like the roses sitting on the fireplace mantle.

ChapterThree

I'mdisoriented when I first wake up. Then, I feel cool sheets beneath my skin and relax into them as relief overtakes me.

A dream. It was all just a horrible nightmare.

I flutter my eyes open, and when the unfamiliar surroundings greet my vision, panic flares in my chest.

Fuck! Not a dream! It wasn't a dream.

It's all very real.

I scramble to sit up. I'm in a different room from the one before. There's dark mahogany everywhere in here too, including the canopy bed I'm sitting in.

I wipe at the hand blood had dripped on but blink when I find it clean. Surely, I didn't hallucinate all that—the shot, my kidnapper dropping dead on the couch beside me, the man in the suit.

As if conjured from my thoughts, the suited man stands with a long unfurling of limbs. He was sitting in a chair catty-cornered to the bed, apparently watching me, waiting for me to wake up.

I shiver. How long has he been just sitting there gazing at me?

---