Page 15 of Torment
He straightens back out and his eyes land on mine once more. He watches my face, looking for any hint of what I’m thinking.
“You’renot safe.” My voice comes out in a stuttered whisper, my body betraying me as it softens under him a little. My chest rises and falls harshly as I try to regain control after he’s thrown my resolve on its ass.
“I’m the safest option you have, doll. I need you to trust me,” he says. No menace or smugness in his tone. It’s calm, laced with a hint of desperation. His thumb strokes my cheek slightly, sending a shiver racing down my spine. His eyes soften when mine slam into him, silently demanding a reason I should.
“Why should I?”
“Because I would never let anything happen to you. I’d torch this shit hole to the ground if it meant you were safe.” Still watching me, his head tilts slightly and his eyes continue pleading.
I can't think straight. What I want to do is tell him to fuck off and die, to leave me alone forever. That I never want to see his face again and get back to work. But, that's never worked before and I shouldn't delude myself into thinking it will now. Especially with the urgency in his tone when he told me it wasn't safe.
“Where are we going?” I change the subject.
He turns one more time, pushing the button again to start the elevator. We continue our ascent to the penthouse floor.
“You’re staying with me tonight.”
“Like fuck I am!”
“Jesus Christ, will you just stop?” His voice raises slightly, his temper starting to fray. His arms raise and he fists the hair at the nape of his neck briefly before he drops them and crosses them over his chest. “Stop. This isn't negotiable. You’re staying with me tonight. End of discussion. Tomorrow when the sun is up, you can fight me all you want and hightail it back home. But for now, just stop-” He wraps his hand around my throat again, his grip tightening slightly to accentuate his words, “fucking fighting me.”
Clearly, if I try to run when these damn doors open, he’s just going to drag me back to him. I’m tired and don't know that I have the energy to keep this up much longer anyway. But I won't let him know that. As soon as the sun rises, I’ll haul ass and go home.
“Fine,” I grit out. I can feel the blaze in my eyes, but he visibly relaxes. He removes his hand from my throat and steps back.
“Good.” He nods, watching me warily.
The signaturetingof the elevator signals our arrival and the doors slide open. He throws his hand out in ayou firstgesture, and I exit. He steps out behind me, placing his hand on the small of my back then ushers me forward.
My heart hammers in my chest as we walk down the hallway and come to a stop at a room.
The gold placard on the door readsThe NinthwithPrivate Residenceunderneath it. My eyebrows furrow and I turn toward him as he fishes out a key card from his wallet.
“The Ninth?” I ask.
“Nine circles of hell,” he answers without looking at me. He waves the key card over the scanner, and the door unlocks with a click. He pushes it open and waits patiently for me to step in.
“After you,” he says.
“Entering the ninth circle of hell with you? Sounds ominous,” I mumble as I slowly step inside. The door closes behind us, and a weight settles in my gut.
“I’ll show you to the room.” Karson grabs my hand and walks in front of me. The contact makes me jump, and the air leaves the room around me once again.
Fuck, fuck…fuck.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Karson flipson a light and I can’t help the way my jaw drops when I see the space. I freeze at the end of the entryway, taking in my surroundings. I knew penthouses were big but, holy shit. I didn't expect this.
To my left is an utterly massive kitchen with black and gold granite countertops that wrap around the room, with brand-new stainless-steel appliances. The refrigerator is double doored with a drawer underneath for a freezer, and a smart screen on one of the doors. The stove has a matching stainless-steel range hood, and in the center of the space is an island with the sinkin the middle of it. Bar stools perch on the opposite side. It’s gorgeous.
We continue into the living room that boasts a sectional that’s large enough to fit at least eight people. On one wall, an eighty-inch television is mounted with a sleek black entertainment stand underneath it, and a door to the right of it. The top is empty, leaving the room looking modern and clean without clutter. To the side of the couch is the outer wall, which is made entirely of glass, and a sliding glass door that leads to a balcony. He drags me further into the space, and I gape at the floor to ceiling, black glass encased fireplace that’s currently burning.
This place makes my loft look like a dump.
Luxury isn't something new to me. My early childhood was no picnic, but I’ve experienced what it’s like to live in luxury since then–it’s just not what I pictured Karson living in. I envisioned a place more like mine, probably more messy and chaotic like him. Not this.
We enter a hallway of sorts, but really it’s just another massive open room with a damned hot tub in the middle of it. Beyond that, we come to a closed door and he pushes it open. Stepping inside, I turn in a slow circle to take it all in. Just like the rest of the penthouse, this room is enormous. An Alaskan king-sized bed sits in the middle of the furthest wall, with a tufted velvet headboard and footboard; gold rivets lining the edges. I step toward the bed, and run my hand along the Brooklinen Down comforter, and the Giza Egyptian cotton pillowcases. His scent is everywhere, wrapping around me and burning itself into my skin.
