​

 I’m dirty, twisted, chaos on two legs. But weak? Jokes on them.
No one sees me for what I am.
The most ruthless Beneventi of us all.

 

EXCERPT

The bedroom’s a goddamn mess.

 

Evidence of her struggle is everywhere; tangled sheets, a broken lamp on the floor, the slackened ropes that bind her ankles. A shard of glass rests beside her on the mattress, and I can tell she used it to pick away at the shibari rope binding her wrists. 

 

I’ve got Elia Seraphina Lombardi trussed up like a flamingo ready for the fire pit.

 

I close the bedroom door behind me. “Miss me?”

 

She glares daggers. Because she can’t reply; I’ve gagged her with a silk tie.

 

It’d be easy to say the devil made me do it because I never claim responsibility for anything, my motto being if the fools in my life believe they can outwit me, fuck ’em while they figure shit out. In this case, I claim full responsibility. There are consequences to actions, so my father likes to remind my twin and me. This girl needed a Beneventi-worthy wakeup call.

I get that I’m memorable, and she clearly hasn’t forgotten me. In the years between luncheons, she’s only gotten sharper, hungrier for my presence, and twice as relentless.

 

Spying on me turned into a game of dodge and evade once she caught me staring earlier. Did I use it to break up the monotony of my day? You bet I did. Teaching her a lesson became my afternoon entertainment. 

 

I escaped to the kitchen, and seconds later, she came in for a glass of water. I took a p*ss, and she lurked outside the door, waiting for me to exit. When I ducked into the library, though, she was already there, seated on the sofa and pretending to read. I gave her points for that. It wasn’t until she followed me upstairs like a lovestruck pup and into a guest bedroom at the far end of the hall, where no one could hear her scre@m, that I sprung my trap.

 

Did she struggle while I subdued her? F@ck yeah—I’ve scratches on my arm and chest to prove it. Cursed me to hell and back, too, not knowing I’ve been there a time or two. But to her credit, not a scre@m or even a whimper escaped her lips. 

She’s on her side now, same place I left her when I escaped downstairs to mingle, her pink feathered cocktail dress riding up over her hips.

 

I pause and admire my work. The rope is an intricate masterpiece, winding between her thighs, cinching her waist, parting her perfect bre@sts before splitting over her shoulders where it then intertwines with the other end and around the wrists behind her back. 

 

It’s my first attempt at shibari. The art form’s meant to be visually appealing. But the way the rope pulls her shoulders back and showcases her big fucking breasts is so erotic, my dick notices.

 

Sixteen, and a stunner. 

 

How did I miss it?

 

She glares at me over a shoulder, and I remind myself she’s in this predicament to learn a lesson. Nothing more, but especially not because I’m designating her as my latest distraction.

 

I sit on the mattress beside her. “Bet you regret following me around like a desperate v*rg*n.”

 

Her green eyes narrow. 

 

“Watching my every move. Stalking me.” I pluck a feather from her dress. “A little b*tch in heat, aren’t you?” Goose bumps prickle her skin as I trace the feather across her bare arm. She’s prettier now that I’m really looking at her. Curvier, with a flat stomach and legs that go on for miles.

 

They’re bent now, wrapped up like a gift.

 

Good thing I don’t do teen v*rg*n.

 

She squirms, and the colorful ropes draw tighter.

 

“So tell me.” I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Am I your crush or your ruin?”

 

She jerks her head sideways in an attempt to headbutt me. 

 

I laugh, loving the fight in her.

​

​

 

I

​

​