Gena Showalter - The Darkest Torment

Baden ushered her toward the only brownstone with copper-framed windows. A doorman let them pass a set of large glass doors without impediment, saying, “Congratulations on your nuptials, sir.”

Baden ignored him. Katarina silently begged for help.

When the man merely smiled blankly at her, her shoulders hunched with disappointment.

People sucked. Her dogs would have helped her without hesitation.

Summer warmth gave way to cool air-conditioning. Once again she searched her surroundings. The ornate interior boasted a colorful ceiling mural and four three-tiered chandeliers that dripped with thousands of crystal teardrops. To the left was a beautiful winding staircase, hand-carved cherubs perched along the railing. To the right, multiple sitting areas delimited a massive unlit hearth.

The people milling about the lobby stared with open curiosity at the leather-clad warrior and the gaudy bride, but only for a second, not wanting to appear rude.

Can’t scream, can’t scream, really can’t scream.

“You can be reasonable,” Baden said as the elevator doors closed, sealing them inside the small cart. Alone. “I’m impressed.”

His condescension irked. Death would be a small price to pay for standing up to such a brute. “You can be an asshole. I’m not impressed.”

“You have spirit.” He used a key card and punched a button for the top floor. The key card must have programmed the elevator to continue ascending, despite anyone waiting for a ride on any of the other floors, because they never stopped to acquire new passengers. “Your problem is you can’t back up your spirit with brute strength.”

The comment only irked her further.

Be strong, Katarina. Her mother’s final words echoed in her mind. Without strength, we have nothing...we are nothing.

I’m someone!

“I suggest you be careful when dealing with one such as me,” Baden added. “I’m a monster.”

“The boogeyman,” she whispered. The only real emotion he’d displayed was delight, and all because men were in pieces around him. He was the kind of person who cheered and placed bets as dogs fought to the death.

Keep his mind on his goal. “What’s so special about the coin you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know.”

Her brow creased with confusion. Had she mistranslated his words? “You don’t know?”

“No.”

And yet, he’d killed dozens of people to obtain the thing. He even planned to dismember Alek. “Explain. Please.”

Ding. He led her down a hall, past a door and into a spacious room with gleaming dark wood floors draped with Tibetan rugs. Every piece of furniture was antique, boasting a unique animal carving: a swan, an elephant, even a winged lion. The fabric bordering the large rounded windows matched the rugs, the sides pulled back to reveal elaborate stained glass.

“Sit.” He gave her a gentle push, and yet she stumbled onto the couch, plopping onto the comfortable cushions. “Stay.”

Two commands she’d often given her dogs. Her fists clenched around her gown’s colossal skirt, wrinkling the material. She was the trainer, not the other way around.

When an aggressive canine was sent to her for taming, she would introduce herself slowly, often pretending she was alone as she puttered around in places he could watch her without feeling as though she encroached on his space. What she didn’t do was allow him to scare her away. He would only lash out more aggressively the next time she appeared.

Baden wasn’t a dog, but he was certainly feral. The same principle applied. So, she stood.

He said nothing as she increased the distance between them. She pretended to scrutinize lamps, vases and the portraits on the wall, each a different type of flower.

“You appear calm and at ease, and yet I can sense your terror.” He leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest.

Surviving a feral, rule one: Never show fear.

Basically, fake it till you make it.

Two: Use a soft but assertive tone. Anything else could rouse hostility.

Three: Remember you get what you reinforce, not necessarily what you expect.

In this case, she ignored number four: Place the dog’s needs first.

And skipped to number five: Find out what will work best with each individual dog.

“How do you sense my terror?” she asked, her tone soft but confident. “I have no tells.”

His raspy chuckle held a note of self-deprecation. “Trust me. You have tells. My more beastly qualities enjoy them.”

“Do your more beastly qualities think I should thank you for kidnapping me?”

“Yes. I did you a favor, nevesta. Consider this a holiday from the terrible life awaiting you.”

“You know nothing about my life. Or me!”

He scoffed, his disgust back in full force. “You are married to Aleksander Ciernik. I can guess.”

Don’t know this man, don’t like him. His opinion doesn’t matter. But...

What would he do if she told him about the dogs? Would he understand her plight? Help her? Or would he condemn her?

Will never tell him! He was a killer, as bad as Alek—maybe worse—and he might hunt down her babies just to spite her.

“Your greed will bring you nothing but pain,” he said.

She blinked at him. “Greed?”

“You covet your husband’s money and power.”

Her fingers curled into her palms, her nails cutting. “What about his pretty face? And what of redeeming him? Could I not want to make an honest man of him?”

“A bad man is a bad man,” he said, his tone flat.

“No hope for you, then, eh?”

Direct hit. He scowled at her.

Clearly, she’d stumbled onto dangerous territory. She backtracked, forcing a saucy grin. “Perhaps I spoke too hastily. Perhaps I just don’t know you well enough. Yet.” If she could get her hands on the vial in his pocket, she could drug him. She could escape, return to Alek, save her babies, and run...for the rest of her life.

Her grin slipped. “Why don’t you order room service for us both, pekný?” Handsome. She winked at him. “I’m dying—hopefully not literally—to learn more about you.”

* * *

Baden was no longer amused by the girl’s outbursts. The angry ones...and the flirtatious ones. More and more, he disliked how she made him feel. She looked at him as if he was a disappointment—because he was. She considered him as bad as the human she’d married—with good reason.

By the time he finished with the siren, he would be far worse.

“I’m your captor,” he told her, “not your provider.” She was beautiful, somehow more beautiful by the minute, and she most assuredly had plans to charm him. How many men had she tricked over the years? How many had she bled dry before moving on to another one?

Power before sentiment.

“Do you plan to keep me weak with hunger?” She continued to meander around the room, the innate sway to her hips acting as a summoning finger. Come here. Touch. He found the strength to resist. Barely. “Fear I’ll overpower you otherwise?”

“Hardly. I’ve never met a feebler female.” How easy it would be to wrap his hands around the elegant column of her neck and end her.

Or better yet, he could chew her up and spit her out.

She whipped around to face him, anger crackling in her eyes. “I’m feeble because a he-man was able to cart me away from my wedding?”

“Yes. You are unable to protect yourself, or even to take care of yourself. You need others to do it for you.”

Threatened by those with power, disdainful of those without it. Was there any type of person he liked?

Katarina looked as if he’d slapped her. Then she blinked away the wound and pouted at him. “Can any woman protect herself from you, pekný?” She picked up a vase, weighed it in her palm. Deciding if it would make a decent missile? “I bet you slay hearts...figuratively as well as literally. Oh, and let’s not forget the panties you must melt.”