Page 126 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
Rage crackles through me like electricity, as if I’ve been plugged into a socket and juiced with twenty thousand volts. Every muscle in my body tenses. I growl, “Let her go. Don’t make me say it again.”
He walks toward me slowly, smiling, rolling his wrist in an expert motion so the whip seems to be a live thing moving before him, gyrating and spinning, the tip slapping lightly against the floor. Beautiful and menacing, he stops about ten feet behind Juanita.
“Or what?” His tone is playful.
Bristling, I answer, “Or I’ll make you wish you were dead long before I grant you that wish.”
One of the guards takes a step toward me, the bore of his rifle leveled at my heart. “Back down.”
I’m staring at Søren when I answer. “I don’t know how to back down. I only know how to stand up. So if you want a piece of me, come and get it. But you better be ready to learn your own limits, because I don’t have any.”
Søren laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound, rich and warm, filled with delight. “God, how I’ve missed you!”
I look at Juanita, trying to convey to her with my eyes that she shouldn’t worry, that I’ll get her out of this. Trembling all over, she stares back at me, her brown eyes huge, her cheeks wet.
“The feeling is definitely not mutual.”
He ignores that. “Even staring down the barrel of a gun, you’re fearless! You see, that’s exactly why we’re so perfect together.”
“You disgust me.”
“Oh, come now, it must have been tedious living all those years among the peasants. There must be a part of you that’s relieved you’ll finally have someone of a superior intellect to interact with. Admit it.”
I say bluntly, “Sorry to burst your bubble, Satan, but you’re not the smartest man I’ve ever met.”
He chuckles. “Now you’re simply being ridiculous. Guards.” They turn to look at him. When he motions with his head, they retreat, but only to a distance. I’ve still got four guns trained on me, just from farther away.
“Where were we?” Søren muses.
I take a careful step toward Juanita. Søren allows it, a smile lightly playing around the corners of his sculpted lips.
“Ah, yes. You were demanding I let your little friend go, and I was about to give you a lesson in the quality and craftsmanship of Corinthian leather.”
His arm snaps up. I realize what’s about to happen a fraction of a second before it does.
“No!” I scream, leaping into motion, but it’s too late. Søren’s arm comes down with a sharp stroke, the whip cracks, Juanita’s entire body jerks, her eyes fly wide open, and her anguish-filled scream pierces the air.
I reach her just as her head drops forward and her body starts to sag. She’s going into shock.
If she loses consciousness, she’ll asphyxiate.
I grab her, lifting her around the waist so the pressure is off her neck, and pull her against my chest. She’s light, hardly a weight at all, her small body motionless in my arms. Her head drops onto my shoulder. From behind the gag, she lets out a soft, animal whimper of pain.
Beneath my fingers on her back, I feel the torn cotton of her T-shirt and the slippery warmth of blood.
“No, no, no, no,” I whisper, cradling her against me. I look over her shoulder at Søren. He’s watching us, smiling that awful smile. All the light has been extinguished in his eyes. I’m no longer looking at a man. I’m looking at the monster that lives inside him.
The monster hisses, “Time for hard choices, Tabitha,” and raises his arm again.
“Promise me you won’t hurt her!” I blurt, hating the crack in my voice. “Promise me if I stay here with you, you’ll let her go! You’ll take her back home, and she’ll be safe!”
His lip curls to a faint sneer. “And there it is. Your one fatal flaw. The thing that makes you so utterly predictable. Sentimentality. You have my word.”
He jerks his head, and one of his guards comes forward. He slings his rifle over his shoulder, unhooks Juanita’s collar from the cable that extends so far into the murky gloom overhead I can’t see where it starts, takes her from me, and carries her away. I watch her lying limply in his arms, her long dark hair caught up under her neck, her skinny bare legs swaying as he walks. Everything inside me snarls like a pack of wolves.
Søren lowers the whip to his side. We lock eyes. His faultless face hardens. Victory rings in his voice as he commands, “Now, let’s begin again. On. Your. Knees.”
My own voice is flat with hatred. “You better learn to sleep with one eye open, you sick son of a bitch.”
