Page 72 of Zain

The asshole drilled her with his gaze. He pried her pinky away from her palm and placed the blade beneath the ridge of her nail.

“I said no!” she shrieked.

The blade pierced the sensitiveflesh beneath her nail.

Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t flinch for fear any movement would drive the knife into her nail bed. Gnashing her teeth, she glared at him. “I’m cooperating.”

“You’re denying everything,” he said coolly. But the current of evil running through his eyes struck her. “Last question to see if you’re lying.”

Dana’s pulse roared in her ears. What the . . . ? How—

“How close are you and Zain?”

She frowned. Moisture rolled from her brow to sting her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you fucking him?” he demanded.

Confusion held her tongue in its grasp. What the hell did her relationship with Zain have to do with anything, and how would he know if she was lying? He could be bluffing. But if he wasn’t and she lied, he’d rip off her fingernails—and then worse.

Her chest squeezed out a breath. Indecision momentarily paralyzed her.

He drove the knife beneath her nail and lifted. She let out a scream. The sharp metal peeled back her delicate nail, and hot, throbbing pain followed. He stopped, her nail half lifted from her flesh.

“Stop! Please, just stop.” Dana withered in his hold, her body limp and sweating, her chest heaving.

His mouth curved in a satisfied smirk. “Answerme.”

Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Every instinct told her this wasn’t the question to lie about. But for some reason, whether she’d slept with Zain or not was important. And if that detail could hang Zain... She wouldn’t take the risk. Not with his life. “No. No, I didn’t sleep with him.” She practically whispered the words, damn near begging her captor to believe her.

The man’s gaze darkened. “That’s a fucking lie.” He ripped the knife back, tearing the nail from its bed. Pain spread through her body like fire. Black-and-white lights blipped in front of her eyes. Her bloody fingernail danced across the cement.

He dropped her fingers, and she covered her injured hand, rocking and howling, her cries pitiful and deranged. He grabbed her arms again, and she screamed from the depths of her soul before kicking and thrashing, but the fight was no use. He had her wrists bound again in seconds.

He let her go, and she collapsed onto the floor, her senses overloaded. Dana was barely aware that he’d stood. Was barely aware of the sound of the door locking behind him.

With her body folded over, she closed her eyes and dragged in mouthfuls of oxygen. Each breath was excruciating. Bile sat at the back of her throat, hot and filling her mouth with acidity. She squeezed her fingers until she feared her bonesmight snap. Only the intense pressure lessened the pain.

She stayed like that for minutes or hours. Time grew legs and ran away from her. When her heart rate returned to a normal-ish level and she was able to hold up her head, she sat.

A fog settled around her as she stared at the empty room. He’d caught her in a lie, but before she could attempt to piece together what that meant, she had to do something about her finger. She’d need the use of her hands to escape or fight.

Lifting the hem of her shirt, she brought the material to her teeth and bit down. She gnawed until she managed to get her canine tooth into the fibers of the clothing. With a small hole made, she tugged the material. The shirt ripped. She worked quickly to pull off a strip along the bottom.

Sitting against the wall she took several deep breaths. She’d have to look at her finger to dress it, and the thought of seeing her nail missing made her head swim.

You can do this.You have to.

She trembled as she lifted her hand and unlocked her fist. Pain blasted through her nerve endings. She bit back a scream as she examined her pinky. Blood coated the end of her finger where her nail should be. The exposed flesh was raw and pulsating. A barely audible wail escaped her lips as she fought to wrap the injured extremity. She needed something to prevent infection, butthere was nothing else she could do.

As it stood, she’d be dead before infection set in.

She had to push that thought from her mind. If she crumbled now, she wouldn’t have a shot at survival. Closing her eyes, she pictured Zain’s face.

His eyes. Those amber hues had stolen her heart the moment she saw his case file. Their depths were so raw and dangerously inviting that even in an image she’d been drawn to him.

The picture was one thing; the real man another. When he’d rescued her in the cave, she’d both feared and pitied him. He’d been so withdrawn, so achingly lost that all she’d wanted was to unravel his suffering. To shoulder some of it. To hold this mammoth of a man who’d appeared to have lost his heart.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Zain wasn’t a man to pity. He’d struggled. There was no doubt about that. He’d seen and done things that the average person wouldn’t survive—but that’s what made him the unyielding force he was.

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