Empire of Sin (Empire #2) by Rina Kent

God, just why does he have an accent?

He’s asking me, I realize. Either that or he’s speaking to a nonexistent person. I realize I’m praying he sees a ghost lurking in the corner. That would be less catastrophic than the alternative.

Next step of denial: hope that he’s merely curious about a random stranger in the elevator.

Though he doesn’t strike me as the type.

“Yes,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “I…started today.”

Please, let it go. Please.

My prayer is obviously not answered when he asks, still not facing me, “Which department?”

“IT.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jane.” My voice is lower now and I hope he doesn’t notice it, he doesn’t sense the tremor behind it.

But what he does is worse.

He turns around.

As in, he’s now facing me and I have a full view of him, of his chiseled face, sharp features, and piercing eyes that are glaring at me now.

He so infuriatingly beautiful, so handsome that there should be a rule against it. And when he glares? It makes him inexplicably hot and scary at the same time. His lips are set in a line, as disapproving as his eyes.

“That’s not true, now, is it? If I remember correctly…your name is Anastasia.”

Shit.

Fuck.

No.

He recognized me. Even with a completely different appearance, he recognized me. He shouldn’t have, but he did. And holy hell, did I tell him my real name? How could I be so careless, just how?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign nonchalance even though I’m physically pushing back against the metal railing.

It’s a cheap tactic, but it should be effective. People are mistaken for others all the time. This shouldn’t be any different. Besides, I did everything in my might to become the opposite of who I am. I wouldn’t be recognized by those I’ve known for years, let alone someone I spent a few hours with.

He steps toward me, or more like, he stalks, moving fluidly and with predatory steps that nearly make me wheeze.

Or maybe it’s the way he keeps staring into my eyes as if he’s ripping every single one of my façades apart and digging his fingers into the broken parts inside me.

It hits me then, the reason why I’m hyperventilating. I’m being burned alive by his sharp hazel eyes. They’re crushing and melting me and I have to stop looking at them.

But I can’t.

I feel like if I break eye contact, I’ll be in a worse danger than I am right now.

That he’ll use the change to confiscate a side of me I’ve been hiding from the world.

Even from myself.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He reaches a hand toward my face and I flinch away, but he wasn’t actually going for my face.

His fingers flex around my throat and he digs the pads into the flesh of my neck as his other hand hits the stop button and something else.

But I don’t focus on that.

I can’t.

Not when all my blood rushes to where his hand is on the sides of my throat. It’s not harsh with the intent of stealing my breath, but it’s firm enough to trigger memories of that night.

Memories of him touching me, immobilizing me, and setting me ablaze in a blast of smithereens. And those thoughts are plaguing me right now.

They’re tearing me to pieces.

Setting me on fire.

Ripping through my bones.

And I can’t stop the images or the full-blown heat that invades my nerve endings, specifically the ones he’s touching.

“You don’t know me, so this is my first and final piece of advice to you. Don’t fuck with me. Not only will you be the one fucked over, but I’ll also take pleasure in tearing you apart and feasting on the remains.”

I’m used to living under threat. Being offered an ultimatum and never actually having a choice. But his way of doing it, with cold calm, slashes through the fairies in my stomach. They’ve turned black now, which is a signal to run the fuck away.

But I can’t.

Not with his savage hold on my throat. There’s a control in it, a simmering firmness, and it’s much more ruthless than the dominance I experienced when he fucked me.

This one is laced with a tinge of anger or displeasure. Maybe both.

“Now tell me what your name is. The actual one.”

“J-Jane…” I don’t mean to stutter, but I did and he must hear it, because his hold tightens on my throat.

“I don’t appreciate liars, beautiful. Especially conniving ones.”

“I’m not…a…liar…” He has to believe me. Otherwise, the new beginning I painted for myself will be null and void.

He can’t know who I actually am.

No one can.

“Your blood that I found on the condom would testify otherwise.”

I gasp, wheezing and shaking while he stands there still as a stone, a cold one that could be used as a weapon.

“I thought you weren’t a virgin.”

I press my lips together, unable to utter a word.

“Turns out, you were a virgin, after all, and since you lied about your name just now, it means you’re used to lying. So tell me, what’s your purpose, hmm? What are you after, Anastasia?”

“Jane… It’s Jane…”