thing I wanted this moming was to be manhandled by an oversized psychopath. “I’m going,” I growled. She paused, and then, slowly, she turned to me with a triumphant smile. “Evil woman,” I said under my breath, only to hear a returned, “Brat.” Refusing to allow her to drag me down to an eight-year-old’s level, I ignored the insult and dug through my bag like it might hold the key to escaping this place—though, unfortunately, all it contained was a pile of bright, messy clothes. I hadn’t gone this long without shaving since I was thirteen, but wearing pants to conceal it felt like Ronan would be winning an unsaid battle. I didn’t care what he thought of my appearance, and if it turned him off— even better. I slipped on a flowy off-the-shoulder bohemian dress and inhaled a breath for the confidence I would need to traverse the devil’s lair. With bare feet, I followed Yulia down the hall, throat tightening as I passed the spot the guard fell. A lemon scent lingered in the air, and the floor sparkled like it was polished. I wondered if Yulia spent her morning knee-deep in bloody paper towels. As we made our way downstairs, I took in my surroundings. The home’s decor was grand, with tall ceilings, white crown molding, and marble floors. However, the Persian rugs, dark curtains, and mismatched furniture gave it a warm and masculine feel. If it wasn’t my prison cell, I could almost say it was comfortable. Ronan sat at the end of the long table in the dining room. He reclined in his high-back chair like a king, eyes as dark as his soul. Like some twisted version of Narnia, I was sure, if I stepped into his wardrobe, it would lead me straight to hell. I stopped at the other end of the table with every intention of sitting as far from him as I could manage, though, with a cool gaze, Ronan pushed out the chair next to him with his foot. What a grand gentleman. Pd rather try the two-story jump from my window than sit next to him, but pride wouldn’t allow me to reveal the shake in my veins. So I moved toward him like I did it every day; like he didn’t shoot a man in the head in the same room days ago. I sat, the only sounds the soft scrape of my chair against the marble and Ronan’s intrusive presence.