Tempted Hero by Ella Miles

Ri

I stareat the empty room save for little more than a king-sized bed. The room is all shades of dark mahogany and even darker sheets. There is no door except for the one we just entered through. No windows, no way to escape unless I plan on fighting off his entire club. Even if I were completely healthy, it would be impossible.

I purse my lips, blowing out a slow breath. Remain calm. Showing my anger and fear will do nothing to help me escape.

“Make yourself comfortable on the bed while I make us some drinks,” Leighton says.

That is the absolute last thing I want to do. “Just water for me, please.”

Leighton walks over to the small bar I now notice in the corner of the room. “I insist. I thought we’d celebrate my win with a bottle of Dom Pérignon.”

It’s just champagne. I can handle drinking a glass without getting drunk, so I give him a sly smile of agreement. But I refuse to sit on the bed. Instead, I walk around the room, seemingly interested in the few pieces of decoration in the room. There’s a dark painting on the wall of what appears to be a raven. I stare at it intently while trying to figure out my next move.

Get him drunk enough for him to pass out. That’s going to be hard to do when we are only drinking champagne.

Fight him. I stare down at my arm in a sling. My odds of winning aren’t great.

Fake sleep.I don’t know if that would stop him.

Pop a stitch and beg him to take me back to the hospital.

None of my options are great.

My heart starts to beat louder in my chest. I put my hand over it, persuading it to settle.

I’ve never failed you before, heart, I won’t this time either, I promise.

I feel him behind me. I want to spin and punch him in the throat. Disarm him and use his gun to shoot him, but that would draw attention. There’s no telling what his men would do to me if I succeeded in killing Leighton.

He places his hand on my shoulder, and it takes everything in me not to jump out of my skin at his touch.

“Here you go,” he says.

I slowly turn to see him holding out a champagne glass to me. I take the glass from him.

He grins down at me, making my insides turn. “To us. To our future. I have no doubt I’m the best man for you. I’ll win the remaining games, and soon we will be husband and wife, ruling over the Corsi empire together. To us.”

He raises his glass and clinks it against mine.

I stare wide-eyed at him as he drinks. His seductive eyes on mine make my skin crawl.

When he finishes his sip, he nods in my direction, waiting for me to sip from my own glass. I force my lips around the glass and take a small sip.

Leighton’s face lights up as I do as I’m told. He grabs my waist and pulls me close to him briskly. I can’t do much to fight back with one arm in a sling and the other gripping my champagne glass.

But my glass is also the thing that keeps our bodies apart. He can’t pull our bodies together like he wants without spilling my glass.

Still, he keeps his free hand on my waist.

“I should probably try to sleep. It’s been a long day, and the doctor recommended plenty of rest for me to heal. Is there another room nearby? I’m even fine sleeping on a couch. I wouldn’t want to disturb you. I’m told I’m a snorer.”

He chuckles. “I doubt that very much. But even if you are, I wouldn’t worry about me. I’ll be sleeping next to most beautiful girl in the world. But I don’t plan on sleeping.”

Acid rises in my throat, and I throw the rest of my champagne back in my throat, hoping to wash my vile down. Leighton takes my glass immediately after I finish it and sets it down with his on the floor. Both of his hands find their way back to my hips as he yanks me to him.

Hip against hip, chest against chest, our breaths blaze on top of each other, but for very different reasons—his out of desire, mine out of unconfined fury.

“Leighton, please remove your hands. I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

“I won you, Princess. I only get you for a week until I have to fight to win you again. I will not let a moment go to waste.”

Suddenly he leans down to press his lips against mine.

I duck, kicking him in the shin as I evade the kiss. Leighton releases me, and I run to the door. Maybe if I run out of here, I’ll make it out of the club before any of Leighton’s men come after me.

My feet move far too slowly.

Leighton recovers quickly.

The weight of his body presses down on me from behind as he tackles me to the floor. My injured arm takes the brunt of his weight as we go down hard.

I cry out at the pain.

“I love how much of a fighter you are. I’ve had far too many submissive women,” Leighton croons against my ear.

My arm throbs, and my lungs struggle for air as his body crushes me. But I won’t give up. I’m a fighter, as he says, and I won’t let him win.

My mind spins with ways to escape. My first step is getting him off of me, though.

I moan loudly, faking more pain than I’m actually in. As expected, he pushes down harder, relishing my sounds of suffering. I let my face smush into the rug, muffling my moans to keep them from him.

I can barely breathe with my face against the thick rug, but Leighton plays right into my hand. He flips me over, still pressing against me and inflicting the pain he enjoys causing.

I anticipate the move. As soon as he flips me, I slide my hand into the back of his pants and grab his gun.

I fire into his shoulder, and he falls back in a roar. I would have rather aimed for his heart or head and killed him with one bullet, but the close proximity and angles of our bodies only gave me one view.

“You bitch,” he spits at me.

It’s enough relief for me to make my escape.

I spring to my feet and once again run toward the door. This time I have a gun, a weapon to defend myself with. My odds of making it out of here still aren’t good, but they’re better now.

I underestimate Leighton, though. His ability to handle pain is greater than I realized. He’s on his feet just a step behind me.

He’s faster than me; I can’t outrun him.

I spin, aiming my gun at him, but come face to face with the barrel of a new gun in his hand.

His grotesque smirk covers his face as blood spills from the wound in his shoulder.

“You can’t shoot me. My father will kill you if you return me injured,” I say with my own winning smirk.

Leighton frowns. “Maybe not until after I win you as my wife. Then, I’ll make you bleed twice as much as what you’ve taken from me.”

“Lower your gun or I’ll shoot you, and this time it will be in the heart.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “I knew your father trained you. The sweet princess act was just that—an act. I knew it.”

“Lower. Your. Gun.”

Leighton looks me in the eyes, and what he finds must be the truth of my words. I will shoot him dead if he doesn’t lower his gun. I’ll probably shoot him dead either way, but I might settle just tying him up if he does as I say. He drops his gun.

“Move to the bed.”

He cocks his head, not showing any sign of the pain and agony he must be in. He doesn’t even grip his arm as he walks backward to the side of the bed and sits down on it.

“Tie your arm to the bed.”

“Kinky,” he grins. “But unfortunately for you, I don’t like playing the submissive. I much prefer the dom role.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, you don’t have a choice.” I lower the gun and aim for his crotch. “That is if you want to keep your favorite appendage.”

Amusement dances in his eyes as he retrieves a rope from the top drawer of the nightstand. I knew without looking the drawer would have rope, and no doubt it was meant for me.

He begins to tie the rope around his wrist, following my orders, but the hair on my arms stands up. Something’s wrong. This is too easy.

Leighton stops suddenly. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?”

“I won’t win until I’m free to marry whomever I want and choose my own future. Until then, I’ll always be trapped.”

He sneers, still tying the rope around his wrist, taking his time. “That will never happen. In about five minutes, you’re going to be tied to this bed, and I’ll be having my way with you.”

“It’s much more likely you’ll be dead within the next five minutes. If you move at all or anyone enters this room, I’ll shoot you dead.”

“I won’t have to move to make you do what I want.” There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he lays out his plan in his head.

My smile falters. “The champagne. You put something in the champagne.” My head starts to spin in dread. I need to get out of here, now.

“Why would I do that when I have a much easier way of controlling you at my disposal? One that won’t rob you of the lovely memories of our time together.”

I freeze, thinking of all the things he could be talking about. Who could he hurt? What could he do?

None of my imaginations are as dreadful as what he actually does. He doesn’t fight fair, and I don’t even know how he does it. But one minute, I’m aiming the gun, determined to pull the trigger and blow his brain out; the next I’m lying on the bed. My arms are tied together to the headboard above. My legs are spread wide and tied to the posts on either corner with no memory of how I got here.

Leighton stares at me from the foot of the bed with a dark, unrelenting gaze.

I close my eyes, trying to block it out. I couldn’t save myself. I failed. My only hope is Beckett—a man who hates playing the hero. A man I hate depending on. A man who better damn well be watching and come to my rescue. He owes me after shooting me in the arm.

Beckett will come. He owes me. But will it be too late to save me?