Page 7 of Knight’s Retribution

My darling?

Rocco didn’t call her darling, he called her baby or Ky and sometimes pumpkin.

A shiver of unease moved through her again, something she couldn’t put her finger on, a memory, something in the back of her mind trying to push forward, but was just out of reach.

Rocco fisted her hair again, tighter this time, and turned her head, kissing her. Whatever she’d been trying to remember vanished, and she kissed him back. She’d spent so much of her life alone, afraid, wondering what was wrong with her. Then Rocco walked into her world and none of that had mattered anymore, because she had him and everything inside her told her he was all she would ever need.

“I love you,” she said against his lips. “So much.”

Strong arms tightened around her. “Give yourself to me, then, my precious one. Tell me you will always belong to me.”

“Yes,” she whispered and lifted her head.

Rocco stared back at her—

She jolted.

His irises were yellow, cold. No, that wasn’t right, Rocco’s eyes were blue.

He grabbed her throat suddenly, shoving her back and pinning her down. “I don’t love you,” Rocco hissed. “I never loved you. How could I love someone as pathetic as you?”

Tears filled her eyes. No. He couldn’t mean that. “What? Why are you—”

Reality swamped her in a rush, and she cried out, gasping in a desperate breath as pain lanced through.

This wasn’t Rocco.

It was Diemos. He was playing with her again.

He stared down at her, all sharp pointed teeth, still wearing Rocco’s face. “Morning, my darling.”

The walls of her apartment shimmered and vanished, revealing Diemos’s bedroom, his bed. The room where she was his prisoner.

Her dreams were her only escape, the only time he couldn’t control her mind. They were filled with joy, with memories of Rocco; awake was where the nightmares lived. But when Diemos did this, they got all intertwined and twisted together.

Tears slid down her face, and she swiped them away, squeezing her eyes shut. Diemos got off on this. On making her forget where she was, what had happened to her, on pretending he was the man she loved.

Whenever he hurt her, he disguised himself as Rocco. So it was Rocco’s hands that caused her pain, it was Rocco who’d tortured her, and it was Rocco’s voice that screamed abuse and insults in her face.

“Look at me,” he said.

She forced herself to open her eyes.

He brushed her hair back. “Do you want to get out of bed today?”

Kyler didn’t move, didn’t speak, because sometimes he was bluffing. Sometimes it was a test to see if she thought she deserved to leave his bed. And the answer was nearly always no.

Diemos sat up, his face turning back into his own, and his yellow eyes sliced over her naked body. She was always naked because he liked her feeling vulnerable. Exposed.

“Sit up,” he said with a note of steel.

Kyler quickly did as he said, and the building anger in his eyes slid away. His moods were always so unpredictable, switching from one moment to the next.

“Good girl.” He took her hand in his cool one, and she fought the urge to pull away. That never ended well for her. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her wrist. “Do not bathe; I’ll take care of that tonight. Now, if you want to get out of this bed, you will kiss me,” he said. “The way you just kissed me when you thought I was him.”

Vomit tried to crawl up her throat, and she forced it down. The intimacy he demanded was constant, his presence overwhelming, his touch almost desperate. He kissed her and he liked to hold her, but nothing more. She didn’t know why, but he hadn’t forced himself on her, even when he was pretending to be Rocco. So far, he had spared her that, but that was the only mercy she’d received from him.

His gaze dipped to her thigh, to the crimson birthmark she had there, and he brushed his thumb over it, something he did a lot, then he looked back at her and dipped his head closer. “Kiss me.”