I shiver, and it bugs me that the shiver isn’t entirely from fear.
He digs out his keys and unlocks the door, then pushes me inside and flicks on the light.
There isn’t much in the room except a dresser pushed up against one wall, a computer sitting on a desk in a corner, a bathroom off to the side, and a huge bed that dominates the space.
I’m in Spider’s bedroom.
Trepidation tightens my muscles. Heat suffusing my cheeks, I tear my eyes from the bed, turning toward the door, though I don’t know why I bother when there’s no way he’d let me get close to it.
Spider shuts the door and the click of the lock sounds absurdly loud in my ears. He turns down the room’s light until it’s a soft glow.
He towers over me, a dark and dangerous figure, as unyielding as ever.
Feeling small and trapped, I struggle for something to say, anything to deflect from the fear pounding through me. Nothing comes to mind, so I drop my shoulders and look away, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.
Spider touches me under the chin. I jerk my eyes up to him, but they only make it as far as his sandy blond beard. The idea of meeting his eyes is almost physically painful, and not just because of that whole submissive thing the Colony instilled into me.
“Still think you’re not going to try to run?” he rasps as he walks past me.
“What would be the point?” I turn, keeping my eyes on his back as he ambles toward the dresser. The door behind me seems tantalizingly close, yet too far away.
Tossing his keys on the dresser, he takes a cell phone out of his pocket and sets it beside his keys. Then he takes his gun out of its holster and sets that down, too.
My eyes fixate on the gun.
The question he’d asked me when he’d found that glass on me at the gas station looms. Could I kill him? He might take my life. Could I take his first?
A cold sweat breaks out on my skin. I couldn’t, and I hate myself for it.
Feeling Spider’s eyes on me, I force my gaze to meet his.
He nods to the firearm. “You think you can grab my piece before I put it to your head, Wildcat?”
The blood floods out of my face. There’s nothing in his expression or his voice that suggests he’s bluffing. In fact, I can see the challenge in his eyes as he crosses his arms and watches me, standing immobilized near the door.
He wants me to try.
My heart sinks. He put the gun there on purpose.
“You were testing me.” My voice shakes.
“For a woman who tried to steal from an MC, you’re quick.”
My nails dig into my palms. “I already told you, I didn’t know what you were. I don’t even know what the word MC means.”
It occurs to me that I’m exposing a dangerous level of ignorance by saying that. And why? It’s not like he’s going to go easy on me for it.
“Come here.”
I can’t tell if he believes me or not.
Unable to bring myself to move, I remain where I am.
“You really have no idea what the fuck to do with yourself, do you?” He prowls toward me.
The surprise in his tone is as obvious as the amusement that sparkles in his ice-blue eyes.
He has no idea how right he is.
The pastors made it seem as if all females who didn’t live in the Colony were wicked, sex-crazed harlots. Until now, setting foot in a guy’s room, much less one who’s twice my age, would have been unthinkable. Doing so would be to put myself on the same level as a whore. I’m utterly lost here.
Shame cuts a path across my heart for being here, and yet for some reason, the idea of admitting to my own sexual inexperience in front of this man is mortifying.
I wish I could say something, but it feels as if anything I say will only cost me too much. He closes in. The urge to back away from him tugs at me, but I stay in place, willing myself not to be afraid.
He stops in front of me and runs his finger along my throat before hooking it through the loop on the studded leather collar.
Man, I forgot I was even wearing that thing.
“Let’s see that killer body of yours again.” As at the strip club, his eyes are heavily lidded, his voice a throaty growl that makes my skin tingle. “Clothes off.”
Shame eats up my insides. I search his face for some hope of connection, anything that hints at the possibility of mercy from him. The heated lust in his eyes is the only warmth in him, and it’s not kind. It’s an all consuming fire that will burn me to ash if I get too close.
I sigh and peel my shirt and bra off, letting them drop.
He cups one of my breasts, thumbing the nipple until it peeks painfully. “Fucking beautiful.”
The praise reaches down inside me, quenching some sick, twisted part of me that craves this man.
He drops his hand. “Keep going.”
My sneakers and skirt go next. As soon as my panties are off, he snatches them from me. He brings the strip of wet black lacy cloth to his nose and inhales deeply. I widen my eyes at him, but he just makes them vanish into a pocket inside that vest.
Why do I have a feeling I’m never going to see those panties again?
Naked except for that infernal collar, I straighten, my eyes fixed to the floor at his feet.
Until I hear a rustle of clothes being removed. As soon as I look up, I wish I hadn’t.
Spider is slipping his vest off.
Gulp.
Heavens, he looks as gorgeous with the vest off as he does with it on. As gorgeous, and as dangerous.
Until now, the tattoos that covered his chest were half hidden, but now that they’re in full view, I realize what they are. A patchwork of skulls and roses cover his skin, following the contours of his powerful muscles, connected with daggers and spider’s webs. The skulls somehow look beautiful and frightening all at the same time.
The man’s skin is a work of art, but it’s the black spiders that march across his right pec and up over his shoulder that hold my attention. They accentuate the deadliness I’ve felt radiating from him since I met him.
I bet he has venom running through his veins, deadly venom as toxic as his twisted desires.
“Enjoying the view, Wildcat?” he purrs, tossing the vest on the bed behind him.
Realizing I’m ogling this living god of sin, I tear my gaze away.
“Look at me.” Spider turns my face to his and pushes my chin up so that I have to look right into his burning gaze. “You don’t get to hide from me.”
Well, now what? I hate myself for following his orders, but looking away is an act of weakness that’s just as bad. I flick my eyes at the gun on the dresser, using it as a reminder of how dangerous he is, and then lock my eyes on his.
“Good girl.” Spider walks slowly around until he’s standing behind me.
He grabs my arms and jerks them behind my back. Fear races through me, but when I struggle, he tightens his grip, holding both of my wrists easily with one hand.
There’s the clink of his belt buckle and then a soft rasp as he pulls the belt off.
The fear thrumming through me mounts into panic. I’m all too familiar with that sound. Whipping with a belt was a favorite punishment of a lot of the church leaders. I’ve seen the damage it does to people I care about.
Is he going to whip me?
But instead, Spider wraps the leather strap around my wrists. He pins my fists to the middle of my back and winds the belt around both of my arms, trapping them behind me.