Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Silvan smirks and kisses my forehead. “Why don’t you come inside.” Looking past me at his friend, he says, “Thanks for bringing her to me.”
I glance back to shoot this Dare guy a dirty look, but he doesn’t even bother looking at me. He just nods at Silvan and turns to head back to his car.
“Wait, he has my stuff in his trunk.”
“I know,” Silvan says. “He’s going to take it to the main house for you.”
“He’s the worst bellboy ever. I hope you don’t give him a tip,” I mutter.
He smirks and pulls me in for another kiss, this time on the lips. “Sounds like you had a great drive up.”
“I did not. He handcuffed me to his—” I stop dead in my tracks, the words falling right off my tongue, when I lay eyes on the display in the living room.
Dylan Prescott is on his hands and knees on the floor, bound at the wrists and ankles, stripped down to his tighty-whities, with a gag in his mouth. His face is pale and splotchy at the same time.
My stomach was already roiling from the car ride up here and then the scary setting of this godforsaken cabin in the woods, but now, at the sight of a nearly naked Dylan tied up on the floor…
I am at a loss.
“What. The. Fuck. Silvan?”
He takes my hand and hauls me into the living room—and toward Dylan. Everything in my whole body screams against going near him, but Silvan drags me in there and drops my hand in front of the couch. He sits, sprawling out and leaning back with his muscular arms spread out like a… well, like a Viking who’s just come home after a good pillaging and wants to put his feet up and relax.
And then he does. Dylan cries out and flinches as Silvan props his booted feet up on Dylan’s back like he’s a piece of furniture.
“Come here, baby,” Silvan says, patting the cushion beside him. “You’ve had a long day. Sit down with your man and relax. Put your feet up,” he adds, nodding at his human ottoman.
I’m too horrified to move.
Silvan pats the couch more assertively, his eyes hardening.
Something like fear jumps in my stomach. I have no frame of reference for what to do, and I think I’m kind of in shock, so I just do as Silvan says. I sit down on the edge of the couch and put my purse on my lap. I look at Dylan’s body, pale but with bruises and scrapes all over.
It’s clear Silvan wasn’t gentle with him when he… ripped his clothes off, bound him, gagged him, and then propped him up in the living room of this murder cabin like a footstool?
“Silvan. Baby. Can I just ask… what the fuck is happening? Because I’m super confused.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to answer me, but then his gaze drifts to Dylan and his eyes go cold. He sits forward and drops his feet, giving Dylan a hard kick to the ribs that sends him halfway across the room.
I jump, startled.
“You don’t look at her,” he tells Dylan. “We talked about this before she got here. Did I fucking stutter, piggy? Lay your slimy fucking eyeballs on my girl one more time and I’ll cut them out to make sure you never do it again.”
Dylan whines pitifully in a sideways heap on the floor. It’s hard to watch, honestly.
“Fucking pathetic,” Silvan spits, shaking his head. He stands and walks over to grab Dylan by the hair, pulling him back up on his hands and knees. “Get the fuck up, you worthless piece of shit.” Leaning down, he gets in Dylan’s face and tells him, “You are an object, not a person. You’re a fucking ottoman, you understand? Objects sit where the fuck they’re put and take whatever is doled out to them until and unless they break, then they’re tossed aside and easily replaced because they don’t matter. That’s what you are now. That’s what you are unless I decide otherwise, and let me assure you that glaring at my fucking woman, looking at her at all? Not how you get there. Nod that you understand me.”
Sniveling and snotty, Dylan nods his head.
Yuck.
I’m grimacing when Silvan straightens and looks back at me. A smirk plays across his lips as he slowly walks over to me. He’s shirtless and wearing just a pair of black sweats. He looks yummy and reminds me more than ever of the night we met when he was a sexy Viking and I was his captive slave girl.
He stops in front of me, looking down at me still sitting on the edge of the couch. His gaze is dark and hooded. I want to touch him, so I do. Tentatively, I reach out and touch his hips. I look up and watch his face to see his reaction, then I palm his cock through the soft fabric.