Chapter 17

**ALINA** 

I sat in the back of the car, arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring out the window as the city passed by in a blur. My mind was a whirlwind of anger and confusion, but I kept my eyes on the street, pretending the world outside wasn't as suffocating as the tension in the car.

I stole a glance at him, his eyes glued to his phone as if we were on some casual road trip instead of him kidnapping me. The audacity. 

He was scrolling through his screen, utterly unfazed by the fact that he'd just snatched me from my home. Probably checking his emails or texting some other woman. Or maybe booking a fucking vacation-because why not?

Moron!

Then, my breath hitched when I saw it.

A mansion-large, imposing, drenched in wealth and power.

This wasn't just a house.

It was a fortress.

Panic crawled up my throat like a vice, my chest tightening as the car pulled to a stop in front of the grand entrance.

The door swung open, but before I could react, a rough hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me out of the car with enough force to make me stumble.

"What the- let me go!" I twisted in his grip, my pulse spiking with fury and fear. 

Alexander didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge me. Instead, he shoved me toward two of his men like I was nothing-just a possession being passed along.

"Take her to my room," he ordered, his voice clipped, dismissive.

I froze.

My head snapped toward him, disbelief fueling the fire already burning inside me.

"Your room?" I spat, my voice rising. "Why the hell would I stay in your room?"

I turned toward the massive mansion,

"This place is massive! There must be a hundred freaking rooms in this mansion, and I can't have one? I'm your guest for the next month, and guests are supposed to be treated with a little basic human decency, don't you think? There's no way you and I are sharing a room. Not in a million years."

Silence.

Then-laughter.

Nico let out a loud, throaty laugh, shaking his head with obvious amusement.

"Oh, this is gonna be entertaining," he said, his grin widening. 

"She's going to add a little comedy to our otherwise boring, blood-soaked lives. I can already tell, the next month's gonna be interesting. I might need popcorn."

Alexander's glare shot to Nico, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

"Nico," he said, his voice low and laced with menace.

Nico didn't flinch, his grin widening even further. "Alexander," he replied, completely unfazed.

Without even sparing me a glance, he turned back to his men, his voice cold and commanding. "Why the fuck are you still standing here? Take her to my room."

I dug my heels into the ground, thrashing against their hold. "I demand a room of my own!" 

My nails bit into their arms, but their grip was like iron. They held me tightly, not giving an inch, and began dragging me toward the main entrance, my feet scraping against the smooth stone as I struggled to break free.

Alexander followed at a leisurely pace.

"Tell your fucking thugs to get their hands off me," I spat, my voice sharp with disgust. 

"I'm not sharing a room with the piece of shit who kidnapped me."

"Stop." Alexander's voice sliced through the air, cold and commanding, and instantly, the men froze, their hands tightening around me.

He closed the distance, his gaze locking onto mine with terrifying intensity.

"Who are you calling a piece of shit?" His voice was low, dangerously calm as if the words were being dragged from him by sheer force of will.

"You think you can just throw words around and face no consequences?" His voice was low, simmering with a dangerous calm. 

"You're mine now. And you'll learn to show respect-whether I have to force it out of you or not."

I turned my face away from him, my voice a barely controlled tremor as I muttered, 

"Bastard."

Without warning, his fingers closed around my chin, forcing my head back toward him. I wrenched my eyes away, stubbornly refusing to look at him.

"Look at me."

I clenched my jaw, my body tensing as I refused.

His grip tightened, his thumb pressing just enough to make my bones ache. 

"When I say look at me, you look at me."

"When I say smile, you smile," he murmured, his voice cold and commanding. 

"When I say you stay in my room, you stay in my room. My home. My rules."

A slow, seething rage built inside me.

My pulse pounded in my ears, fury burning through my veins. My body moved before my mind could catch up.

And then-

I spat at him.

The silence that followed was instant.

The warm drop of saliva landed just below his cheekbone, glistening against his stubbled skin. 

Small. Almost delicate.

The men holding me went rigid, their grips tightening like shackles. No one moved. No one breathed.

Alexander stood utterly still, his jaw flexing, nostrils flaring, his entire body coiled like a predator about to strike.

What the fuck had I just done?

My heart pounded so violently I could hear it echo in my skull.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something dangerously close to fear.

Alexander doesn't wipe the spit off-no, that would be too predictable, too beneath him. 

Instead, he lets it glisten in the sunlight, a mark of defiance he refuses to erase. He holds my gaze, his eyes so dangerously intimate that, for a moment, I forget to breathe. Even if my arms weren't being restrained, I don't think I'd be able to move.

My stomach clenches as he takes a step forward. One. Then another. Slow. Deliberate. Until he's standing so close, his presence alone suffocates the space between us.

His smile is like ice-sharp, unforgiving.

He lifts a single finger, dragging it through the warm moisture staining his cheek. Then he holds it up, right in front of my face, letting me see exactly what I've done.

He's amused.

A gun hanging loosely at his side, my spit glistening on his fingertip.

A chill rushes down my spine. Panic blooms in my chest like a poisonous flower. 

He's going to wipe it on me. Smear it across my lips. Maybe punch me. Maybe worse.

But he does none of those things.

Instead, he turns his hand and stares at his finger for a moment. My pulse is a crashing ocean in my ears. Then, with his gaze locked onto mine, he brings it to his mouth.

And sucks.

I stop breathing.

He doesn't just lick it away-no, that would be too simple. He drags his finger between his lips, slowly, his dark eyes never leaving mine. The motion is deliberate, languid. A show of dominance. A warning. A silent, intimate promise of something much darker.

My belly clenches, my breath stuttering as something hot and treacherous coils inside me.

And he doesn't stop there.

No, he keeps going, pushing his finger in deeper, letting it slide past his lips inch by inch, his expression unreadable except for the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. He's showing me something, forcing thoughts into my mind that I want nothing to do with, yet can't seem to escape.

The moment stretches, endless and suffocating. I stand frozen, helpless beneath the weight of his control, the silent message that slithers between us like a predator circling its prey.

Then, slowly, torturously, he pulls his finger out. A glint of a smirk dances at the corner of his lips, his dark eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

I hate him.

And yet, as the ghost of his touch lingers between us, I know with certainty-he's only just begun.