It carried his cool fury and his disgust. He might as well have marked her with it. I’m a sadist and I love to hurt things. Cross me and you’ll be next.
Except he wouldn’t go after her . . . not directly at first.
He’d find other ways to undermine her. Ways that would involve seeing those around her suffer. Like the wedding designer . . . Dru had initially wanted to work with a new girl who’d been practically just out of school. It was the one thing she’d tried to do. Not that it mattered so much about the stupid dress—she wasn’t looking at this as a damned wedding, but if the dickwad was going to shell out the money, it might as well go to somebody who’d need it more than a some bloke who already had clients coming out of his ears, she figured.
But that one thing that she’d wanted to do, he’d smashed it. Right in front of her, the day after she’d refused to have sex with him for the first time.
He’d fired the girl right in front of Dru, told her the work was inept, barely suited to the travesty of a Vegas wedding, much less his standards. And as he was paying the bill, he figured he should be pleased with the work, naturally.
That hadn’t been the only thing he’d done, though.
Dru shuddered as a memory flash rolled through her mind. When he’d come to her the following night, she’d seen something else in his mind—the events of the night. He’d left her . . . and gone to his little slave shop. He’d been in the mood to hurt somebody. He was still taking care with her, though. Hurting her would have to wait. Couldn’t leave bruises or anything until after the wedding. So he’d taken his anger out on somebody else.
He hurt her, without even knowing it, by taking his rage out on another.
Sick monster.
Twisted, sick monster, and she was trapped. For now. But damned if she wouldn’t try to find a way to get out.
Staring at the note, she read it one more time . . .
Stay in and eat, she thought. Rest.
Absently, she reached up and touched her cheek. It hadn’t even bruised—she’d watched it for the first two days, wondering if a mark would show, but it hadn’t happened. Patrick had a lot of practice in striking women. It sickened her to the very core, knowing that.
“Stay in.” She stared off at nothing. “I quite think I’ve had enough of staying in, actually.”
She ignored the food. She wasn’t in the mood to eat any damned thing he’d sent to her. Three days were enough of acting like a kicked puppy. Outside on the balcony, she stared toward the park, her gut in knots, her head pounding. And all the while, rage burned inside her.
Stay in.
She was letting her fear cow her. The one thing she’d told herself she couldn’t do and what was she doing?
The rage burned inside, and to her disgust, she realized she was just a step away from crying. She was furious, she was scared, she was angry . . . and trapped. But damned if she’d cry about it.
The headache behind her eyes raged and she went to rub her brow but the ring flashed, caught her attention. Unaware that she was snarling, she stared at the ring for a long, long moment and then, desperately, she grabbed the ring, tore it off her hand. For a second, she was tempted to hurl it off the balcony, but at the last moment, self-preservation stopped her and she whirled around.
As she hurled it across the room, something hazy danced in front of her eyes.
She froze, staring at the spot just a few feet in front of her door.
A man—
But she blinked and when she looked again, whatever she’d seen was gone.
“I’m going crazy,” she whispered. And it was entirely possible.
Across the room, her ring lay by the door, glinting. Mocking her. She ignored it. Unable to stay inside another moment, she grabbed her purse. She’d be damned if she remained locked away in this sodding prison. He thought he had her cowed, damn him. And when he realized she’d left, he damn well might make her suffer for it.
But screw it. She couldn’t let her fear of him control her. The day she started letting him stop her in any way, she was done. She was so utterly filled with fury, she was tempted to