a way out that isn’t to be had.
With my legs threatening to fold, I walk across the room, feeling as if heavy cement bricks are tied to my ankles. I stop in front of him.
“Strip.”
And so, the beginning of a routine that has become painfully familiar. What sick hell has he dreamed up for me this time?
The image of myself being paraded in front of all the men here, most of whom I’ve never laid eyes on before today, flashes in my mind. Humiliation burning my cheeks, I let out a slow, shaky breath.
Hands trembling, I strip off my clothes, and Spider watches every move as if mesmerized. When I pull off Striker’s tee and peel off the halter, his eyes skirt over the cuts he left on my chest and roam over the plump mounds of my breasts. His tongue wets his lips. My nipples tighten instantly, as if he’s licked them.
I pull off my shoes and socks. His gaze blazes, pure lust as he watches me undo and slide off my pants. His throat works as his eyes fixate on the swell of my hips, on the junction between my thighs, drinking me in as if it’s his right.
He’s seen me like this so many times before, and yet he still reacts that way. The possession in that look, however cold, still makes my blood temperature skyrocket.
As soon as I’m naked, he grabs my wrist and marches me to the bathroom.
Spider gives me two minutes to shower. He’s brutal, ordering me to hurry as I wash my hair and scrub down, giving me no time to enjoy the cool water sluicing over my body and washing away the road dust and heat of the day.
When I’m done, he towels my hair dry, quickly pats my body down, and then hands me a toothbrush, left on the counter and still in its wrapper. Arms crossed, he watches me brush my teeth in the mirror above the sink.
Staring into a mirror for the first time since we left Casper’s, I almost choke on the toothbrush, seeing the marks he left on me. I hadn’t had a chance to look at what he’s done to me until now.
“Spider,” I snap, whipping my head around to him. “Why did you do that?”
Standing at the door, his smile is pure evil, his eyes drinking in the marks on my chest.
I huff, looking at my reflection in the glass.
Dozens of shallow welts create a kaleidoscope of lines that intersect at the center of my chest, right above my breasts. They’re drawn like spokes on a wheel, with circles connecting them, each one getting smaller toward the center.
A Spider’s web. A fracking Spider’s web.
I grit my teeth, stabbing the toothbrush into a cup on the back of the sink before I decide to stab it in his eye. “You are so dead. I swear.”
He chuckles, a low, sexy sound that makes the web he’s branded me with feel like it’s tingling. He moves slowly in behind me, slipping his arms around my waist and eying the pattern on my chest.
“Aw, come on, Wildcat. Is that any way for a pastor’s daughter to talk? And to a man?” He drops a kiss on my shoulder. “Doesn’t your Colony have this whole female subservience thing?”
I stare at him, grinding my teeth. He’s actually using that against me?
“I. Hate. You.”
He nips my shoulder. Then he releases me and claps my hip. “Hurry up. You make me late for church, and I’ll spank your ass.”
I growl at him and finish up.
Why in blazes do they call it church? Of all the things bikers could have called their meetings, it has to be something that reminds me of the Colony. I know there’s nothing Godly about what goes on in that chapel.
Back out in the bedroom, Spider seizes my wrist and stalks over to the foot of the bed again. He yanks me to him. His fingers push my damp curls back from my face with a care that would seem at odds with this grip on my wrist, except that, once again, that gentleness brings to mind a man taking care with his favorite toy.
I lick my lips. “You have a meeting,” I remind him feebly. “I heard Dragon say you had ten minutes. You don’t have time to do this.”
“Nice try. You’re not getting out of this.”
There’s no warning. Spider spins me around so that I’m facing the bed. For half a second, I feel his chest press