Page 14 of Brutal Vows

Cold fury washes away my lust.

“It’s too late for the damsel in distress act. If you wanted me to treat you like a woman, you wouldn’t have acted like a snake.”

The blood drains from her face and fear shines in her bright green eyes, but she never looks away from my glare. “You’ve earned every ounce of pain I’m going to give you.Capisci?”

She swallows and pulls a deep breath in through her nose as she stares back at me. When she exhales without opening her mouth, I realize she doesn’t intend to defend herself.

Good. I’m done coddling her.

And judging by the look on her face, she’ll bolt the moment I give her an inch of freedom. I sigh, release her throat, and pull my pistol from my ankle holster.

All emotion drains from her expression. I pause with the muzzle a few inches from her face, her reaction unexpected.

No tears glimmer in her eyes. No panic. No desperation. She neither looks for a dirty way to escape nor becomes infuriated over my audacity at pulling a gun on her.

Instead, she morphs into a cold, cynical creature with demons lurking in her clear green orbs.

I lower her arms to her stomach and press the muzzle to her temple.

“You can’t manipulate your way out of this, Julieta. Follow my lead and maybe I’ll send you back to San Jose instead of killing you.Capisci?”

The hardness in her eyes says she doesn’t believe my words any more than I do, which means she’s not stupid.

I pull her from the wall, release her wrists, and tuck her against my side with my arm over her shoulders and the pistol digging into her ribs. She walks beside me like a life-sized doll as I lead her through the alley toward the parking lot.

Fiero and Emma Capito are long gone, but another cab driver and a handful of police officers have joined the two cabbies arguing near the center of the lot. Ignoring them, I saunter toward the street where I left my car pulled halfway on the curb.

When I notice Julieta reading my license plate, I press the muzzle harder against her ribs and ask, “Still thinking of alerting the cops? Or maybe you want to call one of your pimps to come bail you out?”

Without flinching, she shifts her gaze to my face.

“My phone is still at work, so how am I supposed to do that? Steal yours?”

I open the passenger door and lower her into the seat, keeping the gun trained on her the entire time, and unlatch the glove box. Several sets of handcuffs gleam in the light before I lean into the vehicle and fasten her seat belt. With our noses less than an inch apart, I meet her eyes.

“Do you trust your skills enough to try?” I ask.

Expecting her to turn sullen, I blink in surprise when she quirks a brow and gives my face a sardonic once-over.

“Did you get slow in your old age or something? I’m not stupid enough to even try to steal your phone. It was a jab at your lame questions,” she sneers.

My hand lifts and cups the back of her head without my permission, weaving my fingers into her loosened ponytail. I tug it back, lifting her chin toward the ceiling and exposing her throat.

“Lame or not, you’d better be hanging on my every word,puttana. Cuff your ankles together.Capisci?”

Before meeting my gaze with impossibly hard eyes, she glances toward the arguing crowd even though my body blocks her view. The resolution in her glare rivals the few men who chose to die instead of break under my hands during torture.

“Of course,il mio sovrano.”

I bite back my frustrated growl as she mocks me, refusing to rise to her bait. I’m not sovereign, and I’m definitely not hers, so the phrasemy sovereignin Italian is her way of calling me a high-handed king or tyrannical lord.

Her expression remains unimpressed as I twist my hand in her hair and smirk.

“Good girl,” I say just to see her balk.

My doubt grows as purpose emanates from her. I lean back, release her hair, and study her as she pulls a set of handcuffs out of the glovebox. She flips the chest belt behind her before leaning down and closing the cuffs over both ankles at the same time. With clipped motions, she rises, fixes her seatbelt, takes another set of handcuffs from the glovebox, slams the compartment closed, and clicks the cuffs shut around her left wrist before lifting both hands toward my face. The open cuff dangles between us.

I snatch her wrists out of the air and lower them out of view before threading the cuff through the dashboard grab handle and closing it around her slim wrist.

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