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PROLOGUE
The sounds of dripping water and heels clicking on the hard cement floor echo throughout the room. A man is tied to a chair in the center, with a black hood covering his head. His hands are restrained behind his back with a thick zip tie, and his ankles are secured to the legs of the chair by rope. His heart was racing, hammering against his chest as she closed the distance between them.
The woman doesn’t say a word as she gracefully slides into his lap, one leg stretched over either side of him. Sinking herself down, she straddles him. Pulling the hood from his head, the bright light blinds him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Cold air brushes against his face from the movement, and his senses are immediately flooded with the heady scent of warm vanilla and sandalwood.
She takes his chin between her fingers and angles his head to face her. His eyes open slowly, finally adjusting to the contrast of light, and he can see the sinister smirk planted firmly on her face. She drops the dark hood to the floor beside them, pulling a knife out from the sheath on her right thigh with the same motion. She begins lightly dragging the sharp tip of the blade up the side of his body, starting from the lower portion of his ribcage, up the side of his pectoral muscle, and stopping at the soft dip where his collarbone meets his shoulder.
His gaze never dropped from hers. She put a little pressure on the knife's handle, pushing deep enough to cause pain but leaving it shallow enough not to break through his skin. It wasn’t her sharpest knife; she purposefully picked this one, knowing what she had planned for him.
The man's breath hitched at the pain and increasing pressure against his skin. He parted his lips to speak, but whatever he planned to say to her died in his throat as she twisted her hand ever so slightly, causing him to grit his teeth. His gaze deepened into her hazel eyes, which helped to keep him grounded in the moment.
He studied her, almost as if trying to read her thoughts and better understand why she would do this to him. This wasn't what he had expected to happen. He knew what she was capable of and whom she worked for, but he thought she was better than this—that she loved him.
The woman bit down on her bottom lip and leaned in closer, their noses almost touching. His eyes were captivating—tricolored heterochromatic: a base of blue with bursts of green and brown.
Those eyes, as beautiful as they were, would break her apart—shatter and ruin her.
The briefest of moments—a single breath—has her questioning whether she is making a mistake in being his enemy. But there are no mistakes in this line of work. It’s kill or be killed. That was how she was trained. He was nothing more than a distraction to her and her work.
She craved him in every way and didn’t want to do this; she didn’t want to be his executioner. But her hand had been forced, and there was no turning back. Deep down, she wished they had met at a different time in their lives—a time when they could have lived happily ever after. But the villain never gets that. The villain always ends up losing in the end.
The knife digs a little deeper, lightly breaking through his skin. A droplet of blood bubbles up from the puncture and drips down his collarbone. He lets out a strangled groan and grits his teeth, trying to control the amount of pain he shows as she plays with him.
She had previously brought him to his knees. He was going to worship her. She was perfect, made for him.
What happened to the woman who opened her heart and let him in? The woman who chose to let him see her vulnerability. The woman he had fallen in love with.
This wasn’t her, not anymore.
She licks her lips and brings her left arm up, sliding it behind his shoulders to rest on the back of the chair, gripping the corner with her hand. She leans forward, her chest pressing firmly against his, her nose dragging along his cheek, as she inhales deeply. His scent of cedar and spice filled her, causing a surge of heat to pool between her thighs. He was delicious and intoxicating, and she wanted to devour him.
Slowly, she dragged her tongue up the side of his neck, from his shoulder to the shell of his ear, tasting him like a decadent treat. Her warm breath was a caress against his ear as she whispered so quietly that he would be the only one to hear her words.
He stiffens when she finishes and slowly pulls herself back to face him again—catching a brief glimpse of guilt in her eyes.
The knife digs just a little deeper, and he groans again, shifting in the chair. The zip ties around his wrists start to cut into his skin, leaving red, angry marks in their wake, but the sharp sting from the blade is all he can feel right now.
Suddenly, a loud explosion rattles the room; the doors at her back are blown off their hinges, and a gust of hot air washes over them. She growls and cocks her head to look over her shoulder. Grinding her teeth with a feral sneer, she swings herself off his lap and pulls the knife from his shoulder, grasping it firmly in the palm of her hand.
Taking a step back from him, she turns to where the doors once were and strides across the room. Her anger and frustration are clearly evident in her demeanor.
She points her knife down at the floor as she approaches the three shadowed figures standing in what remains of the doorway.
“The fu—“
A blinding flash of light, followed by an ear-splitting sound, rings throughout the room. She drops to the floor, her head spinning, and pain rips through her body, eliciting a rough scream from her throat.
CHAPTER 1
Chyler (Kai-ler)
Adrenaline surged through me, and my eyes flared open. I was immediately blinded by the strip of bright sunlight that managed to squeeze through the small gap in the curtains. I quickly threw my hand up with a hiss to block the blinding light from my eyes.
Morning; it was morning.
There was an incessant pounding and sharp ringing in my head; it felt like nails were being dragged across my skull. I sat up in bed with a groan and rubbed my hands up and down my face, pressing my palms into my eyes. I started feeling lightheaded with the movement and instantly regretted it. How much did I drink last night?
I reached over and picked my phone up from the nightstand. It was sitting next to a glass of water and what looked like an open and empty condom wrapper. Nice. I rolled my eyes and unlocked my phone, checking my messages and the time. I was surprised to find that I didn’t sleep in as late as I thought I did. I dropped my phone down on the table, causing a loud thud, and a large body next to me shifted in the sheets with a deep groan. Oh, fuck.
