Page 13 of Depraved

I didn’t know why it shocked me. Why him knowing who I was twisted my insides into a thousand little knots. Of course, he knew me. He had weekly dealings with my father. It was only natural to have assumed he knew who I was—who my father was. Really. Why the fuck was I shocked?

I cleared my throat. “Well, since you know who I am, why don’t you show me the same courtesy by telling me who you are?”

He leaned forward, and the rich, earthy scent of sandalwood mixed with the sharp smell of alcohol enclosed me, assaulting my senses, and if it wasn’t for the fear his presence evoked, I would have easily lost myself in it.

His dark eyebrows twitched, his mustache moving with his lips. “I’m the man you’ve been wanting to meet for a very long time.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” A little courage decided to come out of nowhere, and I remained stoic.

He snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. The next sound I heard was that of the rope around my wrists as he cut through it effortlessly with a knife. The glint of the blade in his hand startled me, and I jerked back. He grabbed my leg, wrapping his long, strong fingers around my calf. “Don’t,” he warned, his face stone, eyes flinty. For a moment, he tightened his grip around my leg, until I sat up straight, my hands at my sides in surrender.

He let go of my leg. “If you try to run, these ropes go back on, and I’ll tie you to the goddamn bed. And believe me,” he cut the rope around my ankles, “in a house full of mean motherfucking bikers, you do not want to be tied to a goddamn bedpost. Feel me?”

I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth and nodded.

“Good.” Green eyes studied me, the golden specks illuminated under the light. “A word of advice. Don’t fight.”

“Don’t fight what?”

A devious smirk curled at the edges of his mouth. “Me.”

That was all it took. One word, and every nerve ending in my body prickled with warning as the threat in his voice penetrated deep into every bone. My lips quivered, my skin cold and damp while our gazes remained locked.

He toyed with the tip of his beard while he remained crouched in front of me. The seconds that passed felt like hours. But no matter how scared I was, how easily he evoked fear in me, I could not look away from him. Every moment was possessed by conflicting emotions.

Attraction and fear.

Curiosity and panic.

Excitement and uncertainty.

My mind was a vortex of thoughts that made absolutely no sense.

Placing his hands on his knees, he was about to stand, but I moved to the edge of the bed. “Who are you?”

He stilled, eyes narrowed, then lightly tapped at the rank displayed on his cut, silently answering my question.

“I know you’re the president. I meant,” I sucked on my bottom lip, “what is your name?”

For a few seconds, his eyes found mine. Cold. Hard. Undeniably mesmerizing. It elicited a kind of fear I fought hard to control, yet my skin heated under his gaze.

He licked his lips, the movement drawing my attention to his mouth framed with an unruly black beard. “You’re here in a room, with a stranger, no idea where you are or what’s going to happen. Yet the question you demand an answer to is what’s my name?”

I shrugged, putting on the bravest face possible. “I want to know the man who saved me from being kidnapped only to kidnap me himself.” One good thing my mother taught me was to never show weakness. Show weakness, and you exposed your greatest vulnerability.

His hand reached out to touch a strand of my blonde hair, and I closed my eyes, holding my breath. Anticipating. Fearing.

The gentlest touch of his hand brushed against the side of my face right where it ached from the blow I was dealt. I could have sworn I heard a groan as he pulled back, and I exhaled.

As he straightened, making his way to the door, I jumped up. “My father will find me.”

A wicked grin laced with secrets and sin spread across his face. “Not when I’m the one helping him look for you.”

CHAPTER FIVE

GRANITE

It took every ounce of self-control a man like me could have to be able to walk out of that room without taking her. I was pretty sure if it wasn’t for the bruise on her face turning my lust into anger, I probably would have.