Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(11)

He stopped at the edge of the bed directly in front of her. Her gaze scanned up his denim-clad legs to his brutally handsome face, hard as granite, eyes like shards of green-shot amber stone.

After a pause, the long, lean line of him leaned over her. She flinched as his hands closed around her forearms and tugged her away from the headboard. He pulled her hands toward him. Her fingers worked on the air, groping helplessly. They’d gone numb and bloodless long ago from the tight cord at her wrists.

The blade flashed and she moaned into the rag, already imagining it cutting into her. Her mind raced. Would it be fast? Painful? God, don’t let it hurt.

He tugged at the tight binding cutting into her wrists, forcing the restraints even tighter. He brought the knife down, snapping the thin cord. She looked down, certain he had cut her, too, but there was no flash of red.

Immediately the pressure eased and blood rushed back into her hands, bringing a fresh onslaught of pain.

He grabbed the rag sticking out of her mouth and held onto it, locking eyes with her. “I’m going to pull this out, but if you scream it’s going back in.” His gaze drilled into her. “Got it?”

She nodded and then the rag was gone. She worked her dry-as-cotton mouth and brought her hands to her jaw, gently flexing the aching muscles in her face with a whimper. She doubted she could scream if she even wanted to. Her mouth was parched as the desert.

Sudden shouts and laughter carried through the door and made her jerk. Her gaze darted in that direction, worry punching her chest, making her breath ragged. It sounded like a party was going on out there. She hoped it stayed outside and didn’t find its way in here. To her.

He followed her gaze and then looked back at her. A long beat of silence crackled between them. “Take off your clothes.”

“Wh-What?”

He repeated himself, speaking slowly, enunciating each word. “Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”

She glanced down as if needing to reacquaint herself with the notion of clothes. She swallowed against the golf-ball-size lump in her throat. He wanted her naked? It didn’t take much imagination to see where that would lead.

She flushed cold then hot and shook her head swiftly, loose hair pelting her in the face. She started to shake. Slow tremors that she couldn’t control. The fear, that ultimate degradation that she had not permitted herself to even contemplate since the moment of her abduction, stared her in the face.

He leaned forward, his fists sinking into the mattress, springs creaking as he brought his nose into almost touching distance of hers. He was close. Too close, and her shaking just got worse.

“You and I are the only two people in this house who aren’t high as a kite.” His breath fanned her lips as he spoke. He let that sink in for a moment. “If you want to keep them out there—” He nodded toward the door. “—and away from you, then you need to strip and get into this bed.”

He was serious.

This was really happening. He was giving her a choice of sorts. Him. Or them.

Her mind raced beneath his unflinching stare. She could suffer him or deal with an unruly gang of men. She scanned him and her stomach knotted at his immense size. He could break her. And then she thought of the rest of them—rough and foul, with eyes that lit up when they hurt her. Her cheek still throbbed where that one had slapped her.

Another raucous shout went up from outside the room followed by the sound of glass breaking. She flinched and darted another glance to the door.

“That’s right,” he confirmed, his deep voice steady and guttural. She felt it like a touch. “They’re not the most civilized boys. I had to tell them you’re mine just to keep them off you.”

Her gaze flew to his face. Lifting her chin, she hoped she looked a lot tougher than she felt. Inside she was shaking . . . screaming. “I’m not yours. I’m not property.”

He waved a hand around the room. “Here, that’s exactly what you are. This isn’t your world anymore, princess, and if you hope to survive, you need to play by my rules and do exactly what I say.”

She exhaled slowly, turning his words over in her head. He meant to . . . help her. Could he mean that? “And that involves me getting naked?”

He lifted one big shoulder in a shrug. “You can keep your underwear on. If they come in here, they won’t notice that under the covers.”

“How generous,” she muttered.

He looked at her blankly. “It is.”

Turning away, he tucked his knife back in the pocket of his jeans. She breathed a little easier with that out of sight. “So just to confirm, you don’t plan to . . . touch me?” She couldn’t bring herself to say rape. As though putting a name to it would make it a possibility.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that did nothing to soften his expression. If anything it made him look more sinister. “You’re not my type.”

“Rape isn’t about that.” This time she had no problem busting out with the word. She’d visited with women’s victims groups. She’d heard their stories. She could see their faces in her mind right now . . . their ravaged eyes.

He sobered again, staring at her as though seeing her for the first time . . . and seeing something else, too. Something distant, visible only to him. “You’re right,” he agreed. “It’s not. I don’t get my rocks off breaking people weaker than I am. You’ll just have to trust me.”