GLYNDON

A dangerous criminal vibe.

The mastermind controlling countless thugs, who usually lurks

behind the scenes.

And somehow, I happened to appear in his path.

Having lived my life surrounded by men who eat the world for

breakfast, I can recognize danger.

I can also recognize people I should stay away from.

And this American stranger is the epitome of those two

options.

I need to get out of here.

Now.

Despite the nerves attacking my already fragile mental state, I

force myself to speak in my no-nonsense tone. “I wasn’t planning

to die.”

He raises an eyebrow and the cigarette in his mouth twitches

with a slight movement of his lips. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. So can you…pull me up?”

I could use his forearm to do that myself, but any sudden

movement will probably have the exact opposite effect and he

could release me to meet my maker.

Still grabbing my wrist with a nonchalant hand, he retrieves a

lighter with his free one and lights the cigarette. The tip burns like

rich orange dusk and he takes his time before he throws the

lighter back into his pocket and blows out a cloud of smoke in my

face.

I usually gag on the smell of cigarettes, but that’s the least of

my problems now.

“And what do I get in return for helping you?”

“My thanks?”

“I have no use for that.”

My lips purse and I force myself to remain calm. “Then why

did you grab hold of me in the first place?”.

He taps the edge of his camera, then caresses it with the

sensuality of a man touching a woman he can’t stay away from.

For some reason that causes my temperature to rise.

He looks like the type who does that a lot.

Often.

And with the same intensity he exudes.

“To take a picture. So how about you finish what you started

and give me the masterpiece I came here for?”

“Are you seriously saying that your masterpiece is my death?”

“Not your death, no. It’d look too bloody and displeasingly

gory when your skull is smashed against the rocks below. Not to

mention that the current lighting won’t be able to capture a good

picture. It’s your fall that I’m interested in. Your pale skin will have

a wonderful contrast against the water.”

“You’re…sick.”

He lifts a shoulder and blows more toxic fog. Even the way he

slides his fingers against the cigarette and smokes appears

effortless, when it’s shackled with tension. “Is that a no?”

“Of course it’s a no, you psycho. You think I’d die just so you

can take a picture?”

“A masterpiece, not a picture. And you don’t really have a

choice. If I decide you’ll die…” His upper body leans forward and he loosens his fingers from around my wrist, his voice lowering to

a frightening whisper. “You’ll die.”

I scream when my foot nearly gives way and my nails dig into

his arm with a ferocious need for life bubbling in my veins with

the desperation of a caged animal. A prisoner that’s been in

solitary confinement for bloody years.

I’m pretty sure I scratched him, but if he’s hurt, he

shows no

signs of discomfort.

“This isn’t funny,” I pant, my voice choked.

“Do you see me laughing?” His long fingers wrap around the

cigarette and he takes a drag before pulling it away from his

mouth. “You have until my smoke ends to give me something.”

“Something?”

“Whatever you’re willing to do in exchange for my chivalrous

act of saving a damsel in distress.”

I don’t miss the way he stresses the word chivalrous, or the

provocative way he uses words in general. As if they’re weapons

in his arsenal.

The battalion at his command.

He’s enjoying this, isn’t he? This whole situation that started

with my attempts to forget has landed me with a nightmare. My

gaze strays to the half-smoked cigarette and just when I’m

thinking about prolonging time, he inhales what remains in a few

seconds and throws the butt away. “Your time is up. Goodbye.”

He starts to release himself from my hold, but I dig my nails in

farther. “Wait!”

No change occurs in his features even as the air tousles his

hair back. Even as I’m sure he feels me shaking with the

desperation of a leaf struggling to survive.

Nothing seems to have any effect on him.

And it scares the shit out of me.

How can someone be this…this cold?

This detached?

This lifeless?

“Changed your mind?”

“Yeah.” My voice trembles even as I attempt to sound in

control of myself. “Pull me up and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Sure you want to word it that way? Whatever I want might

include a number of things that are frowned upon by the general

public.”

“I don’t care.” The moment I’m on safe ground, I’m out of this

crazy wanker’s orbit.

“It’s your funeral.” His fingers wrap around my wrist in a

merciless grip and he tugs me from the edge with baffling ease.

It’s as if I wasn’t hanging toward death by a thread just now.

As if the water below wasn’t opening its fangs to chew me in

between them. Maybe, just maybe, that’s not a good thing,

considering the devil I’m facing.

My harsh breaths sound animalistic in the silence of the night.

I attempt to regulate them, but it’s of no use.

I was brought up to have a steel will and an imposing

presence. I was raised with a last name that’s larger than life, and

with family and friends who attract attention wherever we go.

And yet, everything I knew seems to vanish at this moment.

It’s like I’m dissociating from who I’m supposed to be and

morphing into a version even I can’t seem to fathom.

And it’s all because of the man standing in front of me. His

features are vacant, his eyes still dull and lifeless, and every bleak color in the palette.

If I had to put a color on him, it’d most definitely be black—

deadpan, cold, and a boundless hue.

I try to free my wrist from his hand, but he tightens his hold

until I’m sure he’ll break my bones just to peek inside them.

It’s been only a minute since I met him, but I honestly

wouldn’t be surprised if he did break my wrist. After all, he

wanted to take a picture of me falling to my death.

And while that’s odd, it’s downright terrifying, too. Because I

know, I just know that this American stranger would be able to do

it in a blink and not think about the consequences.

“Let me go,” I say in a clipped tone.

His lips tip at the corners. “Ask nicely and I might.”

“What’s the definition of nicely to you?”

“Add a please or drop on your knees. Either will do. Doing

them both at the same time would be highly recommended.”

“How about neither?”

He tilts his head to the side. “That would be both pointless and

foolish. After all, you’re at my mercy.”

In a swift movement, he pushes me to the edge again. I try to

stop the brutality of his movement, but my strength is a mere

straw in the face of his raw power.

In no time, my legs are hanging on the verge of the cliff, but

this time, I grab hold of the strap of his camera, his shirt, and any

surface I can dig my nails in.

Cold.

He’s so cold, it freezes my fingers and leaves me breathless.

“Please!”

An appreciative sound slips from his lips, but he doesn’t drag

me back. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

My nostrils flare, but I manage to say, “Can you stop this?”

“Not when you didn’t finish your second part of the bargain.”

I stare at him, probably looking dumbfounded as hell. “Second

part?”

He places a hand on top of my head, and that’s when I notice

that he’s tall. So tall that it’s intimidating.

At first, he merely caresses a few strands of my hair behind

my ears. The gesture is so intimate that my mouth goes dry.

My heart beats so loudly that I think it’ll rip from my rib cage.

No one has ever touched me with this level of nonnegotiable

confidence. No—not confidence. It’s power.

The overwhelming type.

His fingers that were just stroking my hair dig in my skull and

shove down so hard, my legs give out. Just like that.

No resistance.

Nothing.

I’m falling.

Falling…

Falling…

I think he’s pushed me to my death, after all, but my knees

bump against the solid ground and so does my heart.

When I stare up, I find that gleam again. Earlier, I thought it

was a flash of light, some semblance of white in the black.

I thought wrong.

It’s black-on-black.

A shade of absolute darkness.

Pure sadism shines in his irises as he holds my head hostage,

and the worst part is that if he lets go, I’ll surely tumble

backward.

A frightening smirk lifts his lips. “Being on your knees is highly

recommended indeed. Now, should we begin?”

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