“Tell me,” he whispers in my ear, raising goosebumps. I bite my lip to resist a shiver, gnawing on it so hard that it splits open, but I don't allow myself to pull away. He leans in a little closer and takes a deep breath. “Tell me everything you know.” » I don't say anything. I test again the strength of the bonds that united me and, like last time, they do not give way. The fibers bite into my skin, causing irritation, but I don't care, I don't care about the bruises and scars. I don't care how many times I've been in the exact same position. All my limbs were tied to a chair nailed to the floor with nothing to keep me company except the beating of my own heart; a simple reminder that I am still alive. He inhales then exhales slowly. I know what he does; I feel everything, he was close. He was trying to make me think of nothing but his proximity. He wanted me to freak out about it, but I was stronger than that. I was stronger than him. “The cat got your tongue, princess?” he hums, moving to the other side of the chair, so close that our legs were touching and I was looking straight at him. He was a bland-looking guy, middle-aged with a day-old stubble splayed across his cheeks and brown. eyes that flicker like the flames of a nonexistent fire. He was ruthless and I was the only thing standing between him and what he wanted. I open my mouth to speak, blood dripping from my chapped lips down to my chin. I lean forward, my tangled brown hair sticking to the sweat running down my forehead; our noses were almost touching. I could see he was searching, trying to read me, but I didn't have any words displayed. I smile, bloody and sinister teeth poking out from under my lips. "You're going to have to torture my... middle of paper... over and over again, as if there were enough people in this world for people like me to drop like flies. Except I knew who I was; a monster, a murderer. I was Ryder Scott and Ryder Scott did what she had to do to survive. My chin was held higher but the sick feeling in my stomach sank deeper. “There she is,” Brooks smiles happily as I enter the room, hands in the pockets of my jeans. “It’s all cleaned up, I see.” My eyes haven’t been this swollen since. Moscow, so thank you." He laughs and turns his head, addressing the young man beside him. Immediately, my posture straightens and my nails dig into my palms because I know him. "Ryder," he smiles, straight, white teeth gleam beneath his lips. “Alexander,” I breathe. His black hair is shorter and swept up in front. His jade eyes scan my appearance, quickly and without a hint of shame...