The mistrust in his voice couldn’t be more evident, but what’s with amusement?
We walk down another hall past more than half a dozen doors leading to what I assume are bedrooms. I have to nearly run to keep up with him, lest he yank my arm out of its socket.
I should feel only hatred for him, and I shouldn’t feel bad for planning to escape, yet guilt sinks in my stomach like a stone. The anger hammering off of him weighs on me like a depressive cloud.
It’s sick and twisted, but I feel as if I’ve disappointed him. What in the world has this man done to me?
As with my first night at Casper’s, I know there’s no way out of this. I have no allies here. Fighting him is useless, yet, once again, panic strips me of reason. I try to yank myself out of his hold, but his grip on my wrist is unrelenting.
“Spider, let me go!” My voice cracks, half fear, half anger.
Saying nothing, he stops at a door halfway down the hall and unlocks it, then pushes me inside. His silence is brutal and crushing and huge.
“You can’t expect me to just accept the things you’ve done to me.”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He shuts the door and locks it, slipping the key into the inside pocket of his cut. Then he strides past me, crossing the bedroom, arms out at his sides. “I own you. From the minute you took that tip jar, you sealed your fate, made yourself mine to do with as I please.”
Watching him walk backward into the room, I take notice of where we are. The room isn’t all that different than Spider’s, with a bathroom off to the side, a large bed, and sturdy but simple furniture. Except for the fact that the bed has four long posts, and that the desk is stacked neatly with papers instead of a computer, it could have easily been Spider’s. Except for two things that completely throw me as soon as I see them.
There is a bible on the desk, front and center, and, of all things, a crucifix is mounted on the wall right above the bed.
From minute one, it had been clear to me that Spider and I come from different worlds. I was raised a pastor’s daughter, and he’s a criminal and a killer. Since I’d met him, I’d thought that religion couldn’t possibly play a role in an MC, for men whose lives are, by default, entrenched in brutality, violence, and sin. Looking at the bible and the cross, I blink, feeling as if my two worlds have suddenly collided so forcefully that awareness of it momentarily manages to pierce the panic thudding in my chest.
Losing focus around this man is dangerous. I force myself to look at him, to focus only on him and what’s about to happen here.
“You’re being unreasonable,” I say. Stupid and pointless, but I can’t make myself accept this.
“Am I?”
“Yes. You tortured me!” I snap.
He shakes his head. “Oh, my Little Wildcat. You call that torture? That was child’s play.”
Gulp.
The statement sends my thoughts scattering in a million directions on a bolt of something close to terror.
My eyes flick to the bible on the table. The presence of it feels mocking, a cruel gift left behind by a God who has forsaken me. I wish I could make it disappear.
Spider follows my gaze and goes over to the desk, picking the bible up with a brow raised. He looks at the book as if it’s alien to him, and reaches for a drawer. Then he catches my eye. He must see the relief on my face, because he smirks, and instead of hiding book from view, he puts the bible back on the desk, right where I can see it.
I roll my eyes, suddenly regretting ever having told him anything about my upbringing.
Spider moves over to stand at the foot of the bed. “Come here.”
Rooted to the spot by the door, I do something just as pointless as anything I’ve said or done since we stepped into this room. I shake my head.
He cocks a brow. When he speaks, his voice is low and soft, the calm in it chilling. “If I have to drag you over here myself, what happens to you now will be a lot worse.”
My throat goes dry. He means it. I can see it in his cold, pitiless eyes. My brain scrambles for