Page 19 of Brutal Union
I slide my shirt back on. “No. I like your attitude, Hime.”
“And what doesHimemean again?” She questions, trying to shift more comfortably on her knees, the restraints around her wrists making her posture rigid.
I start to button up my shirt. “I never told you, but nice try.”
"Hmm," she shifts slightly, testing the bonds. “I can’t help but notice you’re getting dressed.”
“Yeah,” I nod, as I finish buttoning up my shirt, then step back over to her.
“And are you going to release me?” She chuckles, still on her knees, wrists bound behind her back, blonde hair mussed, lips swollen, skin flushed from everything I just did to her. She looks like chaos incarnate—and still manages to look regal. My fucking queen, even when she’s tied up and wrecked.
“Nope,”I lean down and press a slow kiss to her cheek. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t look away.
“You can’t be serious. Are you leaving me here like this?” she asks, voice low but dangerous, venom wrapped in velvet.
“You know, we need to teach you not to speak with a gag in your mouth,” I wink, sliding my jacket over my shoulders.
“I am not playing with you-”
“I’m not playing with you either.” I grin, brushing a strand of damp hair off her face. “I can’t let you go all soft and relaxed. You’d catch me too easily.”
Her eyes flash. “Sho.”
“I need a head start,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear. “So you don’t kill me the second you can move.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.” I smirk, walking over to her phone next to the window and text her name to my own phone, that buzzes in my pocket.
Her whole body tenses. “You’re fucking insane.”
“And you love it,” I laugh and walk toward the door, unhurried, like I don’t feel the weight of her fury licking at my spine.
Hand on the doorknob, I glance back over my shoulder—she’s glaring now, teeth bared, wrists straining against the restraints like she might rip the damn couch apart.
“See you next time, little brat.”
Then I’m gone, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear her scream echo through the penthouse, feral and furious. And fuck, it’s music to my ears.
5
NADIA
It takesme three fucking hours to crawl across the penthouse floor, the leather belt biting into my wrists, my arms screaming from the strain. Three hours of dragging myself toward my dead phone—useless, lying by the floor-to-ceiling windows like a sleek little corpse. Three hours of bloodied palms, carpet burns, and sawing at the restraints with the dull edge of my favorite goddamn knife.
Sho left me bound like a trophy. And now I’m bleeding for the privilege of undoing it.
Could I have screamed? Absolutely. I could’ve shattered the glass with my voice. Security downstairs, the concierge, maybe even some poor maid—they would’ve come running.
But that would’ve meant beingseen.
Half-naked. Sweaty. Lips bruised from a gag. Wrists bound behind my back with a belt like some broken little plaything.
And I’m a lot of things—but humiliated? Never.
Another thing I’ll be telling Sho the next time I see him: humiliation is a hard line. Anddefinitelynot a kink I fucking have.
After one brutal yank, the belt finally gives. My palm splits open, blood oozing from a gash that’ll probably need stitches. I don’t care. I’m free.
