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Unraveling my arms, I trace my thumbs over the sharp definitions of his cheekbones, and it’s genuinely a wonder my fingers don’t come away bloody. I answer, “Prescription.” A moment passes. I add, “Not because I’m crazy.” Leaning near his ear, I whisper, “I actually quite like the voices. I would never medicate them.”
Rowan shudders and jerks his head away from my lips.
I laugh and stand, checking that Cupcake found her way home to her cage. She’s already happily tracing up one of the fake trees to perch in the boughs. Closing and locking the door, I say, “You only have one choice, pet. But there is an easy way and a hard way.” I drop all sense of mirth as I pin Rowan with a withering glance. “Understand?”
He watches me for several hard moments, then mutters, “I’m listening.”
How lovely. He’s listening. What a pleasant—if rare—trait for a future husband to have.
Chapter 3
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gasp. And it was a romcom.
Rowan
What the — is going on?
Somehow, the amalgamation of all three Powerpuff Girls drugged me, kidnapped me, tied me up, and greeted me after I came to with an entire boa constrictor around her shoulders. Whatever the bloody heck she’s wearing, it hugs every curve like plastic wrap and does a number on my groggy head.
I don’t know what suits her better—this or the cloud tights.
She’s a goddess.
Who is fourteen years younger and torturing me in the weirdest, most unique way possible.
I should get her signed up to give a Masterclass: How to Get Everything You Want Out of Your Victim – Without Staining Your Cement. Some of the guys at The Casa could use the information. Then again, they’d probably need their eyes to be as doe shaped as hers to get anywhere using her methods. Barring that…
My gaze flicks down her slender legs before I jolt my attention off her completely. A slew of curses fills my head as her distinctly lemon and vanilla scent cloys in my nostrils.
I’m no stranger to pain, and I think I’d prefer it to whatever this is.
My heart lunges when she returns from the extravagant snake enclosure stretching the full length of the wall in front of me.
When she grasps the thin silver zipper at the base of her throat and pulls down, it feels like I’ve picked whatever hard way she was talking about earlier. My stomach tightens as, inch by inch, her clothes peel away from milk-white skin.
Threatening to shut off, my brain lags well after she stops the zipper just below her clavicle. Above her heart, the ink of a black rose stains soft flesh, and I recognize the symbol moments before she says, “My name is Briar Rosanera.” Her fingertips graze the ink petals of her tattoo. “You’ll either agree to my requests and be treated with respect, or I will expose you to torture unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before.”
Doubtful.
Involuntarily, I arch a brow.
“I wouldn’t underestimate me, pet.”
“I wouldn’t call me pet, princess. I’ve seen more horrors than you’ve had the chance to imagine. I’m familiar with your family.” I grimace. “It rarely inspires fear.”
“Unlike yours.” A humorless smile curls her full lips. “I’m aware.”
Sickness twists in the back of my throat, but I don’t justify that comment with a response.
“I keep tabs on my neighbors.” She zips her top back up. “I know about your family’s history and reputation. I’ve also noticed the shift since the Maxim Project got your parents. Part of Rosanera’s…charm is the knowledge we have access to. My connections would put your entire organization to shame. More than that—” Her eyes stick on me, wraith-like and terrifyingly empty. “—I prefer a psychological torment to a physical approach. Skin-deep wounds heal far faster. You will either oblige my plan of your own free will, or I will strip you of everything that makes you up until you’re afraid to sneeze without my permission.”
“What’s your plan?” I ask as though she isn’t making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Something about her…is disturbing. Whether she’s bluffing or not, she knows how to look the part of a deranged mastermind.
I know all too well that crazy people don’t have limits. Their thoughts are untraceable. While they dredge through the minds of their victims on a whim, I never know what to expect in return. Their rules are always changing. All hope for lasting peace ends up being a mirage.
Proving my unspoken point, Briar offers her hand, takes a breath, and says, “Date me with the intention to marry.”
