Page 7 of Vicious Devotion
I learned more in that brief span of time about the things men desire from women than I ever knew before. Enough to disgust me, to make me wonder if I would ever want a man at all.
And then I met Gabriel. Gabriel—who has never asked anything of me that I didn’t want to give freely. Who never would. Who didn’t show even a flicker of disappointment when I panicked and stopped partway through?—
I shove the thought away, hard. I don’t want to think about Gabriel here, in this cold office, in front of this cold man. I don’t know if I want to think about him at all. Because I don’t want those memories mixed up with what’s to come. I don’t want them tarnished by it.
“But I liked the way you talked back to me.” Igor’s voice darkens, thickening with that particular sound of desire, and my skin crawls. “It’s been a long time since a woman has dared to do that. I like your fight, Bella. Your fire. I will enjoy taming you. Breaking you. And—” He holds up a hand before I can speak. “You’re going to tell me that you can’t be broken. That you’ll resist me no matter what. Believe me, Bella, when I tell you that I will enjoy that even more.”
A cold shudder runs through me, despite how hard I try to repress it. The lasciviousness in Igor’s voice is apparent, underneath his cold intonation, as if he doesn’t particularly want to hide it. As if he wants me to know, to fear, what’s coming for me.
His gaze sweeps over me, intrigued. “Are you still a virgin?” he asks bluntly, and I feel my eyes widen at the frank way he says it aloud. I don’t know what the best way to respond is.
A no might save me from his bed, but send me to his men’s barracks to be passed around like meat. A yes might damn me to his bed sooner rather than later—tonight, even, if I’m particularly unlucky. My stomach twists, and I take a shaky breath.
I can’t bring myself to answer one way or another. The memories of Gabriel fill my mind again, of him leading me into his bedroom, of his soft kisses and touches, his hands and mouth bringing me to the edge of indescribable pleasure, and then spilling me over, again and again, before he ever took anything for himself. Of how he made the first time something more intimate, more treasured, than I ever knew it could be. Than I ever, ever hoped for.
I cling to that, to the knowledge that Igor won’t be my first. That he can’t have that from me—that no man can, ever again. It’s Gabriel’s, and his alone. He has that—we do—no matter what else happens.
It’s the one thing I had to give that can’t be stolen now. And that, at least, eases a little of the painful fear in my chest.
Igor shrugs, clearly picking up on the fact that I don’t intend to answer. “No matter. I’ll have a doctor come and examine you—today, in fact. If you are a virgin—” his gaze slides over me, as if taking stock of what he’ll get to have, to touch, if his conditions are met, “—then I’ll marry you.”
It takes everything in me not to recoil at that. I feel like he’s slapped me. I can’t stop my eyes from widening, from sucking a sharp breath of air into my lungs, and from the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, he’s pleased to have gotten a reaction out of me. I hate that he managed it, but I gather myself quickly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of anything more.
“I need another heir, now that Pyotr is gone,” Igor continues. “Since you never married my son, I’ll marry you myself. And if I find that you’re not a virgin, well—” A cold smile curves the corners of his mouth, deepening the grooves there. “I’ll still enjoy you. Perhaps you’ll even find pleasure in it. I know my way around a woman’s body, Bella. I can just imagine the satisfaction for us both. Yours, physical—mine, knowing I’ve coaxed pleasure from you that you don’t want.” His gaze darkens, and heats in a way that’s at odds with the chill that’s settled down in my bones, and I know he’s aroused. My stomach twists, my hands tightening around the arms of the chair until I’m sure my knuckles have gone white.
Igor stands, walking around the desk to where I’m sitting. “Up,” he says sharply, and my entire body, my mind, everything rebels against his command. Against the idea that I would ever, ever obey this man.
His hand closes around my upper arm, pulling me out of the chair and turning me to face him. If he notices the way I flinch, the way I can’t help but recoil, he doesn’t show it. He looks down at me, both of his hands gripping my upper arms—not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to make it clear that he, and he alone, controls my fate now.
“You will obey me, Bella,” Igor says coldly, smoothly. “Or I will punish you until you understand that defying me is more painful than obedience. It’s a lesson I would enjoy teaching you. So I suggest you not test me.” He drops one hand, using the other to steer me towards the door. When he opens it, I see that four of his men are waiting some distance away—not close enough to eavesdrop, but close enough to be ready for his command.
Their loyalty frightens me. The way they move towards me chills me to the bone all over again, as does the way their eyes slide over me, the knowledge plain that there’s a possibility I could belong to them, before long. Something to be devoured, chewed up, and then thrown away.
There will be no coercing Igor’s men to help me. No convincing any of them to betray him. There’s no wiles I could employ, even if I thought I was capable of being seductive enough to pull that off. Igor has removed that possibility simply by dangling me in front of them. If they’re loyal, they might get me anyway. If Igor keeps me for himself, he’ll give them a different reward. A different woman, maybe.
Betraying him would only earn them a painful death. Even I know it would never be worth the risk, for men like these.
“Take her upstairs,” Igor directs, and then he slips back into his office, closing the door with finality.
I’m led up the stairs, to the third floor, and a large guest room that’s luxurious in the extreme. The door is closed and locked behind me as soon as the men lead me inside and leave me there, and there’s nothing for me to do but take stock of my cage.
A hard, gleaming wooden floor, freshly waxed, with a cream-colored rug tufted with dark pink cabbage roses, stretched out in the center of it. A four-poster bed with a matching velvet cream-and-rose duvet, smooth cream-colored sheets tucked neatly below it, and pillows in that same color scheme piled three layers deep, fluffy, and inviting. There’s the usual furniture—a vanity, a wardrobe, a dresser—and a dark pink velvet wing chair by a large window, with an embroidered throw pillow on one side. There’s also a small bookshelf, but it’s empty, as if no one had the imagination to think of what books to stock it with for guests.
Or—more likely—Igor wanted me left without entertainment, so that my imagination could run wild, thinking of all the things that might happen to me if I dare to defy him. All of the ways he could hurt me, if I refuse to bend to his will.
And how can I refuse, anyway? In the end, he’ll get what he wants. I’ll have the satisfaction of fighting, for a time. But in the end, that satisfaction will turn to pain. He’ll win, no matter what. It’s what men like him do.
I was a fool to believe I could be free from it.
I pace back and forth, for what feels like hours, trying to think of what to do. And the cruel, crushing knowledge that I keep coming back to is that there’s nothing I can do. I’m a prisoner here, and there’s no means of escape. Maybe, in time, I could manage it. I could find a way to sneak past Igor on some excursion, some trip, if he ever lets his new bird out of her cage. But it won’t be for a long time. And the truth is that no matter how strong I know I can be, no matter how strong I want to believe that I am, I know there’s a limit to what I can endure.
Especially when it comes to what I know Igor has planned for me.
And if Gabriel comes for me?
I can’t allow myself to hope for that. Not when I know the consequences that it could have for him, and for his family.
The guilt washes over me, hot and thick, because I know what it’s like to be traumatized by men with guns, men with rough hands, and rougher threats. It’s my fault that Cecelia and Danny will have something to fear, now. My fault, for ever walking into that house knowing what haunted me.