Page 11 of Devil’s Promise

My legs cross despite the fresh scabs on my knees, and my hands fold in my lap.

He stands in place, legs wide, arms crossed as he stares down at me. “You either have a will of iron, or you’re completely cooked.”

Cooked? I cock my head, staring up at him.

“Doesn’t matter which. Your father has access to doors I can’t touch without some help.”

Figures.

“But I want to make sure you understand a few rules, so you better listen. And when I’m done…you better nod that you understand. Am I clear?”

How much should I test?

I look away, staring at the cracks in the wall to my right. I don’t nod.

I hear him cross the floor, moving closer.

I tense, knowing something bad is coming, but I don’t look at him, don’t acquiesce. My whole life I kept thinking, if I’m just a little more accommodating. Prettier. Better behaved, he’ll be happy.

But it was never true. The harder I tried, the less satisfied my father seemed to become. It was the same with my mother. The smaller we made ourselves, the larger and more tyrannical he became.

And that’s when I realized…

It wasn’t about me at all, and there was nothing to do but fight until I couldn’t fight anymore.

Granted, I’m a shit soldier.

If this were chess, I’d be some tiny pawn who can barely move and is likely about to be sacrificed.

Not like the man before me. He’s a king.

So is my father.

He squats down, his hand coming to my bare knee, and I do a thing I hate. I flinch.

“Well, well, well…something gets a reaction out of you.”

I tighten the hands in my lap into fists as my chin notches up. But he doesn’t squeeze harder.

Instead, he slides his hand higher, under my skirt, along my bare leg.

My gaze snaps to his as I try to jerk my leg away, but he holds firm. Not enough that he’ll leave bruises but enough that I can’t move my leg.

His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of my thigh. “So soft,” he murmurs, his gaze narrowing. The way he looks at me, I know his words are not a compliment. It’s commentary on how easy I’ll be to break.

My breath hitches as his hand moves even higher, stopping when his fingertips hit the edge of my underwear.

“First,” he rumbles low and deep, “and I meant this when I said it earlier, you will put out whenever I want.”

My lips fall open as I stare at him. I don’t mean to, but I softly shake my head, my hair swishing over my shoulders, as I quietly disagree.

His brows lift. “You understand after all.”

My lips clamp back together.

“You’re a virgin?”

He knows I understand. I have no idea if I should lie in this situation, either choice seems dangerous, so I give a quick jerk of my chin in acknowledgement.