His penetrating stare followed my every movement, the low words a rumble of pleasure. “It’s a start.” The sounds of my knees and hands on the floor, the steady beat of my heart, and the sweet thrash of our vengeance filled the room. I crawled between his spread legs and ran my face against his pants like a humble pet. He was hard. The sadist was getting off on this. His inked fingers rested on his knee, and I caressed them with my cheek. He opened his hand and practically rumbled with satisfaction when I stroked the side of my face against his palm. “Please,” I begged, sliding my hand over his erection and up his chest, my next words harsh, “go fuck yourself.” I shoved him as hard as I could. The chair tipped backward to the floor, taking its master with it. Wood splintered beneath his weight, and his growl vibrated through the room. Heart twisting in my throat, I was on my feet, but he spun out of the fall to grab my ankle and pull me down. I hit the floor so hard, all the breath whooshed out of me. “Kotyonok.” It was a chuckle bit behind clenched teeth. “You’ve fucked up.” He dragged me backward, and I clawed at the Persian rug to find purchase. My shirt slid to my waist, baring naked skin. I knew I couldn’t let him get me underneath him, or this fight would be over. Releasing my grip on the rug to feign surrender, I gasped, “I’m sorry!” “No, you’re not,” he growled. “You just know you’ ve lost.” He didn’t expect a good fight from me. I was a girl going up against a battle-hardened man. But now I didn’t have a concussion. Now I had hatred burning a hole through my stomach. I couldn’t control these pent-up feelings, and when I had the right angle, they lashed out. “You’re right,” I admitted. “I’m not even a little sorry.” Throwing my elbow back, I hit something hard. Pain radiated through my arm. He hissed, but his grip on my ankle only tightened. The bastard must be made of fire and brimstone. Suddenly, he released me. I didn’t stop to wonder why he was letting me go; I took the opportunity to crawl to the door and scramble to my feet. When I collided with a man in the hall, his rifle dropped to the floor. “Chto za khren’,” the guard cursed, grabbing ahold of me.