Page 9 of Arrogant Bastard

Because what came after guaranteed me a front-and-center place in hell.

“Let me go, Killian. Please.”

I don’t know whether it’s the sound of his name on my lips that drives the shiver through him. Or the naked plea in my voice. Either way, I then feel his lips brush a kiss on the top of my head before he exhales. “No. Never.”

Fight kicks in. I use my purchase on the tree to attempt to dislodge him. He’s an immovable mountain. He whips my cap off and slides his fingers into my hair, holding me even more immobile. His body presses harder into mine, and I feel the rigid outline of his cock in the crease of my ass.

The sound that emerges from my throat is a cross between a growl of fury and a whimper of desire. The memory of him, hard and huge and deep inside me, rocking me to the fieriest depths of pleasure, isn’t one I want to recall. Nor do I want to recall the guttural, dirty words that tumble from Killian’s lips from the moment we get naked. But they’re blazing a path of unstoppable destruction through my head, and I want to kick my own ass ten ways to Sunday.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay to remember,” he says soothingly, so in tune with my feelings it’s scary.

“Fuck you. It’s not okay. I’ll never be okay.”

“I know. But this is still happening. I’ve come for you, and I’m not leaving without you.”

“If you think I’ve turned meek and mild since you last saw me, you’re in for a hell of a surprise.”

I feel the slide of his finger against my neck, brushing my hair away, exposing my nape. I can’t stop my body’s tremble at his touch, much as I’m dying to.

“I know you haven’t. But I need you to come with me. So I apologize in advance for this.”

“I…what?” I start to turn my head. The touch of something cold and damp against my neck sends a bolt of shock through me. Ice-cold dread rolls through me even as I start to lose sensation in my extremities. “Killiarrrr…” The second part of his name thickens in a slur on my tongue as I feel another kiss against my temple.

“You’re mine, Faith. You’ll always be mine. And I’m sorry, but this part is nonnegotiable.”

Those are the last words I hear before sweet oblivion sweeps me away.

Chapter Four

Black Widow

My head is filled with cotton wool, and my mouth feels like every grain of sand in the Gobi desert has been stuffed in it.

Even before I’m fully awake, I know I’ve been drugged. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time I’ve had chemicals pumped into my bloodstream to keep me subdued. It’s the consequence of the life I’ve led. The life I’ve been hiding from these past four years.

I can’t exactly hear my heartbeat, but with the absence of any foreign tubes in my mouth, I know at least I’m breathing on my own and not with the aid of intubation like the last time. That’s a good start.

The lights are thankfully low when I attempt to open my eyes. I’m in a room, on a sofa, in an apartment. Shit.

Memories of the evening’s events take precious few minutes to return, and when they do, they’re a touch sketchy. But his presence registers almost immediately.

For a single moment, I wish for the harsher lights of a hospital, the rushed voices of an emergency room providing a soundtrack that tells me I’m not in the deepest, darkest shit. But of course, that’s impossible. A hospital means names, records, and pushy doctors demanding to know every last thing about me. And nosy computers in black sites ready to pounce on the tiniest morsel resulting from a misstep.

I’ve already fucked up by not acting and running when I should have. It’s stupid to even wish for anything that’ll compound that problem. So I tackle the one immediately confronting me.

I take a breath, and I’m surrounded by his scent. God, he smells so good. I want to close my eyes and block out the inevitable. I want to take a deeper hit even as another part of me clamors to stop breathing altogether so I don’t have to face what’s coming. I choose the former option and shut my eyes. I can’t face him again. Not yet.

Killian.

“You’ve been awake for five minutes. How long are you going to ignore me?” the deep, solemn voice asks.

I’m not sure if my shiver is real or in my imagination. “You…” I stop when my tongue refuses to cooperate. I wriggle my jaw and try again. “You drugged…me.” I sound like I’ve downed a full bottle of vodka and chased it with two dozen shots of Jägermeister while high on E.

“It was the only way I could ensure you’d come quietly.”

The last moments in the park remain hazy, but I know enough to arrive at an accurate assessment. “You’re an…asshole.”

“Yes.”

---