Across her chest.
Over her heart and then back up to her neck.
One of the first steps necessary in breaking her was getting rid of her old life and having her fit mine. In the way I saw her, wanted her, she belonged to me now, and I wouldn’t stop until she fit my fantasy perfectly. I glided my fingers through her wet, heavy hair and then jerked it with my fist.
“Every woman wants to be you. Every man wants to fuck you.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and I forced her to look up at me. I cut the final thread in her mentally, emotionally, physically… With one snip, and then another, and another, a waterfall of tears poured down her cheeks while I battled the desire to lick them off her face with my tongue against her soft white skin.
Her hair fell from my fingers onto the ground, surrounding her in a broken halo. I hacked her dark hair until it was to her shoulders, holding up the last piece in front of her eyes so she could see how serious I was in who she belonged to.
“You hid from the world through your long, thick black hair, and I won’t allow you to hide from me. Nothing between us, not even your luscious hair.”
Her lips trembled, seeing herself in the mirror. The bruise on her temple, the lashes on her chest and stomach, along with her new haircut.
“Where’s my tough girl, Juliet? Where did you she go?”
She didn’t reply, and I could see she was going into shock.
“If you pass out, I’ll only revive you and finish what I started. There’s no escaping me, and the faster you realize that the easier this will be for you. Now, what do you say?”
Her mouth opened, and a strangled noise followed as she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Now, say it like you mean it.”
Fire flashed behind those tears. “Thank you,” she firmly stated.
I leaned down and tenderly kissed her forehead. Then uttered, “You’re welcome.”
Juliet
I choked on my tears of betrayal, bitterness building inside my soul until my heart felt like it was going to drown with it. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.
She was a stranger.
An imposter.
Lost.
My eyes shifted to his handsome, deceiving face through the mirror in front of us. I knew there was no place to run for cover.
Protection.
All I had was him.
The fucking villain.
And how pathetic was I that even through my tears of hopelessness, I still tried to turn to him for comfort—for sympathy, for anything really that would trick me into thinking this was a fairy tale when it was anything but that.
I was in his hell.
He wrapped his arms around my naked body, without morals, without rules, without a heart; he held me against his sturdy chest and allowed me to bawl my eyes out.
I was falling to the ground.
Fallen.
Gone.
And still—to my villain, I clung.
CHAPTER FOUR
Donovan
Everything about her was perfection, even with all the fallen pieces of her hair that stuck to my hands—I wanted her.
She was different.
This was different.
I knew it the moment I saw her for the first time. She was too pure, without the darkness like the sins I carried that had stained my soul. Oftentimes I wondered what it was like—walking around in this seedy world without the darkness looming and the heaviness dragging. It was my initial attraction to her as much as I didn’t want to admit to it, but then again, nobody ever really does. Seeing something shiny, beautiful, untainted, I couldn’t imagine anything more tempting than corrupting her, breaking her down to the barest of bare, stealing some of that goodness for myself, and then showing that same pretty little thing that the only reality that existed was the one you’d created for her.
A tear slid down her cheek, followed by another as she tried to crawl into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees like that would somehow protect her from my wrath. If anything, it attracted me even more, sending a bolt of lust through my body so strong I had a hard time exhaling.
I coaxed, “We’re not finished yet,” my voice heavy with desire.
She looked up at me through crystal blue eyes. “Why am I here?”
My smile was cruel, imagining the way I would lick those tears from her face, only to redden her body with my belt and create them all over again. Maybe I’d collect them, her tears, so I could stare at them in a glass bottle and remind myself and her that I controlled everything.
Even the number of tears that fell from her eyes.
“You’re here”—I moved toward the door, waiting for the guards to open and hand me what I needed next—“because I want you to be here. It’s really quite simple, pet.”
“My father will never—”
“Let’s leave your father out of this. You’re here because I will it, just like you’re alive because I want you to be. From here on out, you live for my pleasure only.”
Her eyes flashed.
I hid my smile, and finally, the door opened with the guard giving me the bottle of dye. Her eyes widened when she realized what I was holding.
“Grab a towel.”
“But—”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” I snapped. “Grab a fucking towel, kneel in front of the bathtub with your head bowed, and wait for me.”
She looked ready to murder me. Good, I loved it when they fought. Sometimes, too much.
At my words, she slowly got to her feet. Her hands shook, whether in fear or something else; I didn’t know and really didn’t fucking care. Eventually, she’d crave me in unfathomable and unforgivable ways. Her lean legs carried her into the bathroom, and I watched in anticipation as she knelt in front of the bathtub, her knees on the towel, her short dark hair in a tattered mess below her ears.
I’d allow her to fix it later. For now, I needed something.
Desperately.
I waited longer than ten minutes, testing her to see if she’d rebel, talk back to me, or even stand up thinking I’d forgotten about her. Still, she knelt. She’d be sore from sitting in that position. Meaning she’d welcome the reprieve when I allowed her to stand; she’d thank me and hate me at the same time.
A little bit of pleasure.
A little bit of pain.
They go hand in hand when turning someone into a pet for a collector—only this time, I was training her for me. Not for anyone else.
Just me.
I leaned over her and turned on the faucet. Once it was ice cold, I shoved her head underneath the water with one hand and disclosed, “I prefer blondes.”
Water sputtered out of her mouth from cascading down her face.
“You like this,” I simply stated, gripping her by the hair as her nipples hardened. “Even if your mind refuses to give up the control, your body craves the comfort of pain; want to know why, Juliet?”
“No.” She clenched her teeth. “You’re a monster.”
“I try.” I grinned down at her chest. “I wonder if you’re as wet between your thighs…”
Captives always tried to appear strong—most of them broke before they even realized what was happening, and she’d be no different.
“Bow your head,” I instructed.
She slowly did as I asked. I shook the bottle before spilling it over her roots, using my hands to pull the color down the short length of her hair. Something about seeing her bent over in submission, something about her flawless tears as I erased her identity had me so turned on I couldn’t fucking think straight.