Bound By Debts

CHAPTER3

Scarlet

The dress on my body was simple—black and ending mid-thigh. It fit snugly around my waist and hips, but I tried to tug it down to cover my knees, to no avail. It stayed exactly where it was.

Taking the time to freshen up helped me push the reality of why I was here to the back of my mind.

Armani had kept to his word and sent a car earlier to fetch me. Scared was an understatement. I was terrified about what was going to happen. Would he turn me to his mistress?

That's how it usually happens in books, right?

If it wasn't, then why did he have me dress up so elegantly? I even had to put on makeup for him.

I shook my head and took a deep breath. It didn't matter, saving Oliver was my priority.

But now, dressed and standing in front of the door, it hit me. This was real.

I opened the door and saw the guard from earlier.. He didn’t even glance at me, but led me down the hallway, through a living room, and into another hallway. It felt like we were walking forever before we finally arrived at the dining room. It was grand—large enough to host a reception or a gala.

In the corner of the room, standing by the tall windows and staring out at the city below, was Armani. The breeze blew his hair back, and he held a cigarette loosely between his fingers.

As he turned to face me, he took a final drag, crushed it against the windowpane, and flicked it outside.

The sharp scent of smoke lingered in the air for a moment.

“You look good,” Armani said, his eyes briefly scanning me, then settling on my face as he slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Yes,” I replied, my fingers running down the front of the dress, trying to smooth it out even though I knew it wasn’t necessary.

He nodded and gave a slight smirk. “You could have left your purse in the bedroom. No one’s going to steal it,” he remarked, his eyes flicking to the purse slung across my chest.

I hadn’t even realized I was still clutching it.

I fixed the strap of my purse over my head, before responding, “Yeah. No, I know that. But I wanted to give you something, and I didn’t want to just carry it.”

My phone was tucked inside, just in case I needed to make a quick 911 call.

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. It was clear that trust didn’t come easily to him. It was understandable, given his kind of profession.

I opened the flap of my purse and pulled out the brown envelope—the same one he had refused to take earlier. It was a weak attempt to make the situation disappear, but I had to try.

His eyes darkened when he saw it. “I told you to take that back to the bank.”

“I know,” I said, rolling my shoulders back. “But I thought maybe after you had time to think about it, you’d realize taking the cash would be better.” I stepped forward and placed the envelope on the beautifully set dining table.

I hadn't expected this level of attention to detail on a dining table, especially not from someone like Armani.

He stared at the envelope for a long moment before shaking his head. With heavy steps, he moved around the long table toward me.

A part of me wanted to turn and run across the room as quickly as possible but, the intensity in his eyes was enough to make me fear for my safety. But I planted my feet and curled my toes inside the ballet flats, forcing myself to stay grounded.

When he reached the envelope, he stopped. “Men who defy me rarely live to make the mistake a second time.” His gaze traveled from the table to meet me.

I folded my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking.

“I’m not one of your men,” I said, raising my chin defiantly, as if my act of bravery would prove something to him. “So, if you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.” I hated how much of a liar I sounded.

The left corner of his mouth twitched upward, as if my words had amused him.

“No. You aren’t one of my men, but you are mine. You did offer yourself, didn’t you?” He stepped closer, the stale smell of his cigarette hanging in the air between us.

I swallowed, fighting to keep the fear in me from escalating into a scream. “I did.”

He raised his hand to my cheek, dragging the back of his knuckles along my jaw.

Is he going to hit me?

“Turn around,” he commanded, dropping his hand and stepping back.

“Turn around?” I asked, confused.

He raised an eyebrow, as if my question was absurd. “Turn around and put your hands on the edge of the buffet,” he instructed, gesturing with his chin to show where he wanted me.

My jaw clenched, trying to suppress any protest. I had signed up for this. In order to save my brother, I had put myself in his hands.

Closing my eyes, I shuffled around and pressed my palms into the buffet table.

I felt his foot land beside mine, the stiff leather of his shoe pressing against the thin material of my flats. His shoulder brushed against mine as he closed the distance between them, removing any remaining space.

Armani released a heavy breath, blowing through my hair. A heated trail of sensation ran from my spine to my ass, accompanied by his featherlike touch. When his hand reached my rear, he grabbed the skirt of my dress, crumpling it into his hand and lifting it up.

“You’ve been here barely an hour, and already you’ve disobeyed me several times.” His voice was husky. “Why are you still wearing your panties?”

The question caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly. “Because they’re mine.”

He huffed a laugh. “Did I leave panties or a bra out for you on the bed with this dress?” His fingers slid beneath the elastic of my cotton black bikini panties. There was a roughness to his touch that I hadn't expected as they brushed against my skin.

“No, but—”

“Then you shouldn’t be wearing them.” With one swift motion, he grabbed the elastic, sliding the panties down over my ass and shoving them down my legs. Once clear of my thighs, they fell to my ankles.

What the hell?