Chapter 9

Nora’s POV

“Why did you bring me here?” I demanded, eyeing the sprawling, industrial-style building we had just entered.

It didn't look like a luxury high-rise anymore; the heavy concrete pillars, dim lighting, and eerie quiet gave it the distinct vibe of an abandoned warehouse straight out of a horror movie.

I glanced ahead at Knox’s broad frame striding down the corridor. It was just the two of us, and I hurried to keep up, but his long strides left me practically jogging to match his pace.

“Can you even walk slower?” I panted out as he finally stopped in front of a heavy steel door. Muffled, agonized screams echoed from the other side, sending a cold shiver straight down my spine.

Before I could brace myself, he pushed the door open and shoved me inside, clearly anticipating that I’d try to run. My breath hitched as I took in the room. It was a tactical armory, every surface was lined with heavy steel tables laden with firearms, hunting knives, and a terrifying assortment of weapons I didn't even have names for.

And then my gaze locked onto the center of the room, and my heart completely plummeted. A man was strapped facedown to a reinforced table, his back entirely exposed, raw, and bleeding.

Two heavily built men stood over him, relentlessly slashing his flesh with a heavy leather whip. Deep gashes crisscrossed his skin, wet with crimson. I choked on a gasp, my chest seizing as panic clawed at my throat.

“Stop it, please!” I cried out, whipping my head around to glare at Knox. Obviously, he was the monster who ordered this. He didn't even flinch, watching the horrific scene with cold, detached indifference as fresh tears spilled over my lashes.

“Stop,” Knox finally commanded. They instantly dropped the whip. Knox strolled casually toward the whimpering man, reaching out to run a callous hand through the victim’s sweat-drenched hair.

Then, his gaze shifted back to me. “You know why he’s here?” I swallowed hard, trembling.

“He talked. And you did the exact same thing,” he finished smoothly, taking a calculated step toward one of the weapon tables.

My pulse hammered against my ribs in a frantic rhythm. I only told Matilda, nobody else! My eyes tracked his hands as he hovered over a gleaming hunting knife. Is he going to stab him?

Hot tears threaten to spill down my face as they gathered in my eyes. But instead of the blade, his fingers brushed past it and wrapped around the grip of a heavy, matte-black pistol.

He walked right up to me, grabbing my trembling hand and forcing the cold metal grip into my palm. My eyes blew wide in sheer terror.

“Don’t want to end up like him? Pull the trigger,” he said, his voice entirely calm. Terrifyingly, insultingly calm.

“Fuck you if you think I’m going to murder someone for you!” I gritted my teeth, flashing him a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

He stepped in dangerously close, closing the physical distance until his body heat radiated against me. Slowly, deliberately, a single finger traced a slow line down my bare shoulder, sending a unwanted jolt of electricity straight to my stomach.

With effortless ease, he slid the gun out of my limp fingers and aimed it squarely at the whimpering man on the table.

The captive started screaming louder, begging for mercy, and fresh tears blurred my vision. He was torturing and executing a man just for running his mouth?

His hand reached out, his rough thumb gently cupping my chin to force my face toward his. His thumb grazed my lower lip, and I swallowed hard, entirely disoriented by the bizarre, electric tension humming between us.

“You look entirely too cute when you cry,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky, low register as his dark eyes locked onto my lips. I instinctively swallowed and bit my lower lip.

He suddenly blinked, looking away as he muttered a sharp curse under his breath. When his gaze snapped back to mine, the playful edge was entirely gone, replaced by a pitch-black void.

He forcefully turned my head back toward the table, stepping up directly behind me. His warm breath brushed against my ear as his large hand came up to steady mine over the weapon.

“That little witch you told? She’s going to get something far worse,” he whispered.

The deafening roar of the gunshot shattered the quiet. I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands flying up to frantically cover my ears.

A low chuckle vibrated right behind my neck. I opened my eyes to see the man on the table slump forward completely limp, a neat, smoking bullet hole centered in his head.

Fresh tears spilled over my cheeks as I spun around, my hand flying up on pure instinct to crack him across the face. Before my palm could even graze his cheek, his iron grip clamped around my wrist like a hydraulic press. His smirk vanished instantly, replaced by a terrifying lethal glare.

“Raise your fucking hand on me, and I’ll bury you alive,” he growled, spelling out every single syllable with bone-chilling clarity. He shoved my hand away, making me stagger back and swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

Tossing the smoking gun carelessly to one of his goons, he grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the armory down another sterile hallway, unlocking a heavy door and shoving me inside.

I hit the floor of the empty room, scrambling backward until my spine hit a massive, unmade mattress. I scrambled to my feet, scanning the space, it was a stark, minimalist bedroom with absolutely nothing in it except for a bed.

The heavy click of the door locking made my blood run cold. My eyes widened in sheer panic as Knox stalked toward me like a predator closing in on a cornered animal.

What is he going to do? He wouldn't actually force himself on me... right? Right? I scrambled backward on the mattress, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.

He closed the distance with slow, deliberate strides. “Think I want to fuck your little pussy?” he scoffed, a dry edge to his voice. “Trust me, I’ve had better.”

A sudden wave of white-hot fury flared up straight from my chest. Was he seriously mocking me right now? Insulting my body while holding me hostage?

Fine, maybe my breasts weren't massive, and maybe my body wasn't built like a model's, but there was nothing wrong with me! He had zero right to sit there and belittle me.

“Oh, so you are thinking about my body, then?” I snapped back, my anger momentarily overriding my terror.

He let out a low, dangerous laugh, climbing right onto the mattress. I tried to scramble off the opposite side, but his hand shot out, catching my ankle and dragging me flat onto my back.

In a flash, he caged me in, pressing his heavy frame over mine with his arms locked on either side of my head to trap me against the mattress. I swallowed the sudden knot of fear in my throat, glaring right up at him.

“You literally just executed a man in front of me for talking, and now you’re locking me in a room, to terrorize me some more?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, a deep, rich laugh tore out of his throat. My breath hitched as I stared up at him. Up close, under the harsh lighting, the metal ring piercing his lower lip caught the light.

I couldn't help noticing how impossibly soft his lips looked, framed by a sharp jawline, straight nose, and those striking, intense eyes. I pressed my lips together, my racing mind suddenly derailing completely. 

The man is gorgeous. Unbelievably, sinfully handsome. Why on earth did someone with a face like that have to be a psychotic criminal? I swear, if we were in any other normal universe, I probably would have just—

A pair of cool, impossibly soft lips crashed down against mine, instantly silencing every coherent thought left in my head.