The Fallen (A Sons of Wrath Prequel) (10 page)

This bordered on masochist, though. The man was dangerous. Possibly deadly. He also could’ve very well been one of the men responsible for the death of her sister.

Maybe, it had nothing to do with sex. Maybe she’d gotten turned on by the
fight
. Like adrenaline junkies who got off jumping out of planes and wrestling with alligators.

Sick, Karinna. So sick.

“What’s your interest in the Sadismen?” The pissed off twist of his lip sort of threw off an Elvis vibe and made her want to laugh, except that his eyes held a pit bull stare, warning her she better not even think of it.

Shit. Her opportunity was slipping by.
Don’t blow it, Karinna
. Reaper or not, the guy was a free pass into the club.
You can always kill him if he tries anything
. Play the game.

“I want in the club.”

“Why?”

“To please you.”

He leaned in, as if he’d kiss her, and Karinna’s breath seized. His lips hovered at hers for a moment, breath smelling clean, like warm mint. She closed her eyes, inwardly vowing to disappear to her safe place, if needed.

A shadow of stubble tickled her cheek as he chanted words she didn’t recognize. Russian? No, she’d heard Russian. Definitely more clip and roll of the tongue.

Her stomach tightened, even if she didn’t know the meaning of what he’d said. The authority of whatever language he spoke, while keeping her pinned to the pillows beneath her, begged her to fight him off, or do something batshit crazy, like lift her head and kiss him.

Oh, you sick woman
.

Hands released hers. Cool air replaced the heat of his breath. She opened her eyes to catch the flutter of the curtains.

He’d left.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck!

Open opportunity. Gone. Just like that.

Karinna sat up and brought both hands to her temples, slamming the heels of them against her skull.
No, no, no.
Had her rebellious streak come on too strong? Maybe he
did
like a meek and breakable female. Some guys needed the dick-stroke, like a Napoleon complex for the tall and flawless, or something.

Twice, she’d been rejected by the man. That made it two times too many.

***

Xander stormed down the hall.
Shit
. He’d seen it in her eyes. That crazy fucking wildcat inside of her—the kind that wouldn’t break easily. She’d enjoy it, no doubt. Welcome his pain. Didn’t matter what scare tactics he pulled.

Karinna wasn’t like other girls.

To please you.
The words purred against his skull. He beat his temples as he stopped in his tracks. Because he couldn’t just walk away from her. If Karinna didn’t happen to know anything about the camera, bringing it up could spur more interest in the club—something he definitely didn’t want to incite in her—but he had to find it, and before Ian did. Blown cover for a human cop meant death. Blown cover for an angel in a demon’s lair meant death with a side of eternal suffering.

He flinched at a memory of Celine.

‘Sides that, Ian had already cast out his big fishing nets, looking for girls to entertain the big gig at the end of the week. Only one thing would keep Karinna alive.

Kidnapping her for the week. 

Otherwise, no doubt, Ian’s hustling bastards would swipe her up from Chix’s—fresh meat from the pussy farm.

He dragged a hand down his face.
Christ
. Like dropping a hunter into the woods with a deer that refused to go down easy.

Approaching the question about the camera would need to be handled carefully. Strategically. He somehow needed to convince her to give up her interest in the club in the process.

The others had broken relatively easy.

He huffed and looked over his shoulder.

Whether she
liked
it, or not—and she mostly certainly would not—she’d be safer with him.

Maybe.

In all his time walking the earth, she was the only female who’d ever penetrated years of control and self-denial. Having Karinna under his roof, though, could very well end up breaking
him
. 

Not if I break you first, Pet.

Intimidate. Keep her away. Away from questions. The club. Lolita.

Mind made up, Xander strode back down the hall and threw aside the curtain.

Karinna startled to her feet, eyes wide, her bag slowly sliding off her shoulder. Excitement? Of course she was happy to see him.

Without a word, he hoisted her over his shoulder. She squirmed but didn’t mutter a word, as he carried her down the hall, toward the back door, to avoid being seen. 

A club patron stood off to the side, hands covering her mouth as though witnessing an atrocity.

Perhaps she was.

Xander had no intentions of letting his pet off easy.

CHAPTER 9

Slung over the Reaper’s back like some kind of cavewoman, as he strode down the hallway toward the back exit, Karinna couldn’t decide if victory or fear swam through her veins.

Her ticket had come back. He could very well kill her. Taunting him might’ve been the dumbest thing she’d ever done in her life, but it didn’t matter anymore. She’d finally get to see the inside of
Hard Limits
. Get to look around. Familiarize herself with faces.

Faces she would pummel the moment the opportunity presented itself.

Revenge. Pain. Death. 

The men who hurt her sister would know the same suffering.

If she died trying, so be it.

The scent of leather and sandalwood filled her nose as the man set her down beside a bike in the parking lot. The mussed look of his hair and youthful face had her expecting a crotch rocket, but the Harley that greeted her only added another layer of mystery to his Rubik’s Cube persona.

“Do you escort all ladies as gallantly, or is dragging them by the hair behind you more your thing?” Karinna reached inside her bag for her sweater, slipping it over top of the corset before sliding the bag over her back.

He straddled the bike and pointed over his shoulder. “Bitch seat.”

She crossed her arms and casually looked to the side.

“You think of running and I’ll hunt you down. Get on.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Get on.”

Testing boundaries. Always testing. She slipped over the seat and set her hands on his waist. A helmet appeared over his shoulder. Well, hell. He cared enough to make sure her head didn’t smash pavement along the way.

What the heck was she worried about, then?

Karinna slid the helmet on as he revved the bike. With a smooth acceleration, they were off, driving through the streets of Detroit at speeds she didn’t care to know, for fear she’d make a bad impression by pissing herself.

Dilapidated buildings soon disappeared, giving way to long stretches of trees and open fields.

In Detroit? Where the hell ….

Through a black cast iron gate, he pulled into a circle drive, bouncing along the cracked concrete, and came to a stop in front of what looked like an abandoned castle.

Because it
was
an abandoned castle. Like he’d told his real estate lady,
find me a place that’s less ‘suburbia’ and more ‘hide the bodies’.

“Where are we? I thought you were taking me to the club?”

She’d never been to
Hard Limits
. Perhaps it was one of those hidden soirees and not really a business club, as she’d imagined, similar to the mansion in
Eyes Wide Shut
but with a dash of shitty landscaping and total abandonment.

“When I feel like socializing, I’ll go to the club. When I feel like fucking, I come here.”

Romantic as all hell.

Shit
. In one sweep, she sized him up. Bulging muscles, scars on his knuckles, dagger at his hip. Probably wouldn’t go down easy. He didn’t take her knife though—the reminder poking her in the ass at that moment. Sweat cooled her face at the same time that her hands turned cold and clammy, twitching with the urge to yank the blade. Months of self defense rushed to the surface as she considered the quickest means of incapacitating him.

She knew how to ride a bike, too. Could thank God for the No Pref she dated, her freshman year of college, for that.

“I want to see. The club.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’ve never been inside—”

“Lesson one. Your wants are not my concern. You no longer get to
want
anything.”

She took a step back as he dismounted the bike. “You might be used to owning a slave, but I’m no slave. Lesson one for you: Treat me like one, and we’ll be on to Lesson two faster than you can blink. I’m willing to do whatever you want. But I want in the club.”

Pow! Holy shit, her heart felt like it might explode.
Take that, Reaper
.

“Whatever I want?” He tipped his head with an artful grin that seemed to have a curious connection to the few un-waxed hairs on her body. “What I want will scare the ever-loving shit out of you.” He gave her arm a hard yank and dragged her inside the house.

While Karinna imagined dark stone walls, with cobwebs, candles, and mysterious chopped hands scurrying across the floor, what met her eyes nearly took her breath away.

Artwork adorned the walls that, unlike the disrepair she’d imagined, had been well-maintained and recently painted.

The house had a gothic feel, but in an artsy way that Lolita would’ve appreciated. Old thick wood accentuated the deep reds and rich browns throughout the house. Cobwebs still hung from the corners, but she couldn’t exactly fault the guy for that, having dated some bachelors in college who sported more fur on their walls than they did their heads.

She didn’t dare admire the house aloud.

“Tortured. Raped,” he mumbled as he led her up the long flight of stairs. “No one would care. No one would find you. All for money?”

If that’d been the sole reason, she might’ve felt the kind of shame and fear he seemed to want to incite.

She tugged at his grip, as Xander guided her up a winding staircase and came to a stop in front of a dark wooden door, with deep black grooves, that gave off an ominous warning of bad things on the other side.

He pushed it open.

Awe and horror battled inside her head as she looked around the room. Unlike the relatively normal décor on the first floor, it
did
look like something out of the serial killer’s edition of
Better Homes & Gardens
.

Beautiful enough to have her admiring the color scheme.

Terrifying enough to leave her contemplating the quickest exit.

A large steel cross stood atop a thick brown rug, in the center of the room. Chains hung from the ceiling. Paddles and whips of varying size and shape dangled from the wall. A gun safe, in the same shades of beige and brown, stood off to the side, holding God knew what, considering the rest of the interior design.

How very color coordinated.

A dungeon that would bring the most sadistic Dom to his knees in tearful appreciation.

Guiding her inside the room, Xander kept his eyes on her, as though assessing her reaction. After tossing Karinna onto the bed, he crossed the room to the ominous-looking safe and rifled through its contents.

Bolt. Run
. The door had been left open. A straight shot. He could be quick, but she’d always been a sprinter. Her tongue thickened, mouth drying as visuals of
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
passed through her mind.
Jesus
. What if she picked the wrong door? Would his leather-face doppelganger fly out, swinging?

She had no intentions of finding out what lovely little devices he kept inside that safe, either. Before she could talk herself out of it, she jumped up and made a dead run for the door.

Yeah, she wanted in. Wanted to find the sick sons of bitches who’d hurt her sister. Being tortured and raped
had
crossed her mind, though the reality of it smacking her in the face didn’t exactly lead her down the path to acceptance. Being alone with a psychopath out in the middle of nowhere never once played into the many ways she’d contemplated getting in the club, for sure.

Shame on her for not having a game-plan for that shit, but
c’est la vie
, as the saying went, no sense beating herself up over it.

Fuck this
.

The steady thud of his boots disappeared to frightening silence.

She glanced over her shoulder, fear strangling her breaths at the long, dark and
empty
hallway.

A wall of muscle smashed her cheek and knocked her back a step. Out of instinct, Karinna hammered his throat and punched his face, throwing his head to the side.

He growled.
Shit.
Growled? Only beastly things growled.

Arms gripped around her waist, and he hefted her over his shoulder, as he’d done back at the club. Karinna screamed. As long and as loud as she could, she screamed until the rasp stole her voice.

Now she’d done it. Pissed him off.

Fight.

Her body was thrown back on the bed, and she scrambled forward, only to be thrown backward once more. With both feet, she kicked him square in the chest. Air seemed to escape him, and though it, unfortunately, didn’t faze him much, she took the opportunity to jump forward and run toward the door again.

Before she could so much as see her reflection in the doorknob, her feet flew out from beneath her, and she face-planted the floor. Twisting around, she kicked, as he crawled up her body and pinned her arms above her head.

“I love a good fight. Turns me on.” He thrust his jean-clad hips into her belly so she could feel his hardness.

Still gripping tight to her wrists that felt a little pop-ready from the pressure, he hauled her up from the floor and dragged her to the bed once more, where he threw her down and straddled her body.

Beside her, leather cuffs and chains had been laid out on display.
Oh, God. No.

She threw a fist that connected with his cheekbone and jerked his head.

Just a little.

Blackness filled his pupils. If death had a face, she’d just witnessed it in the angry knit of his brows and the gnashing of his teeth. His lip peeled back as he clicked a cuff around her wrist, and within seconds, in spite of her struggle, all four limbs were anchored to all four posts.

“How feisty are you, now that you’re tied up, Pet?”

Karinna tugged in futility. For all the control she had over her life, all the training to fight off captors, all of it disappeared. Faded. She screamed and tugged at the binds in one last effort to get loose, the tantrum only stoking his cruel laughter. She’d never been good at relinquishing control. Even the months she’d trained her mind for becoming captive, a part of her refused to believe she could
actually
be overpowered.

That whole invincibility thing she trusted to a fault.

A glint caught her eyes, and Karinna’s breath hitched as he zipped a blade up her body, ankles to arms, slicing through fabric. Her sweater and jeans were swiped from beneath her like a tablecloth trick, leaving only her corset and panties.

Sure, she’d stripped much the same way on stage, but something about having it done without the confidence that the blade wouldn’t slice her belly open along the way had her frantically searching for gashes.

A clatter beside the bed had caught his attention and he bent forward, disappearing over the edge. The glint of her blade shone in the darkness when he rose to a stand, holding it in front of her. “You won’t be needing this.”

His stare caressed her body. 

For the first time, it occurred to Karinna like a shot of
shit just got real
medicine—the man didn’t play.

“Everything that was once important to you, before tonight, doesn’t matter anymore. Understand?”

Out of defiance, she didn’t answer. Only because a small part of her wanted to know what he’d do if she didn’t.

He gripped her chin. “Do. You. Understand?”

“No,” she growled out. “This is kidnapping. A
crime
.”

Releasing her chin, he crouched beside the bed. “And who the fuck are you gonna tell, sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Let’s not forget, you asked to get
in.
You practically begged me.”

“To the club, asshole. Not your sick little sadistic playroom.”

“You don’t like my toys?” He sighed. “What a shame.”

“You better pray I don’t get loose.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d almost think her words flipped his predator switch from the way his eyes carried the kind of smile the normal world got from baby coos and puppy kisses. “And you better pray I don’t catch you.” His hand smoothed down her body. “Nothing excites me more than the hunt.”

Chains beat against the posts of the bed, as Karinna allowed herself to become possessed by the tantrum breaking through the surface. How could she let it happen? Literally
allow
him to take her somewhere and chain her up? Though she wanted to smack him for it, he’d spoken the truth: she
had
practically begged him.

Jesus, she could kick her own ass.

“What is your interest in the club?”

Avenge Lolita. Kill all you sick and twisted fucks.
“You said it earlier. Money.”

“You’re lying again.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Liars piss me off.” With a slide of his hand beneath her neck, he gripped her nape, rubbing his finger very slowly at the base of her skull. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“To please you.”

“Why. Are. You. Here?” His words, so close to her ear, promised bad things if she failed to answer correctly.

What did he want her to say? Half the strippers in Detroit wanted in the club for one reason or another. Why was he pushing? “There is no other reason.”

The clutch of her nape tightened. “I think there is. And you’re going to tell me. Even if I have to beat it out of you.” He held up his knife in front of her. “Perhaps you like edge play?” Another glide split her corset in half, and her breasts sprang free, drawing his gaze away from hers.

She snarled and the tension rose to the surface. “Go ahead. Cut me, you sadist pig. You don’t think I’ve had a blade at my throat before? You think my act on stage is some teenage emo, attention-loving bullshit?”

“I happen to be a fan of your work.” His palm rubbed the five o’clock shadow of his chin as his eyes remained riveted on her breasts like a kid distracted by a lollipop. “Why stripping?”

“Why kidnapping?”

“My parents never allowed me pets as a child.” He smirked. “Why pole fucking?”

Karinna damn near shot daggers from her eyeballs. “Because, when I ride a pole, every motherfucker up in the club wishes he could be that cold steel rod sliding between my thighs.” She smiled all smug and proud of herself. “That’s power.
Real
power.”

“And so here you are, strapped to my bed.” He crossed his arms over his chest and that sly grin widened. “I guess that’d make me the most powerful motherfucker up in the club.”

She stared. His voice had such an odd quality to it. Calm. Calculated. Never once rattled by her words. Her thoughts drifted to
American Psycho
. Very Patrick Bateman, like he’d exchange business cards with her any moment and compliment the shade of white.

Noted.

He’d broken girls with that voice. She could only imagine, at some point, he managed to have them damn near salivating on cue just by saying the word in that thick, sultry tone.

The trick for Karinna was not to be taken by it.

He rose from the edge of the bed and opened the drawer of a nightstand. From it, he pulled a black scarf. With a laughable attempt to keep him from tying it around her eyes, she turned her head to the side and buried her face in the pillow, only to have her head wrenched back as the fabric cinched her skull.