PART TWO: THE BREAKING (Continued)
Day Nine.
Novalee woke slowly, her body screaming in protest.
Everything hurt. Her throat. Her wrists where the rope had cut. Between her legs. The bruises from the beating. The welts from the crop.
But worse than the physical pain was the memory.
Atlas. Holding her down. His tongue on her. Dante's voice in her ear. The moan she couldn't stop. The betrayal of her own body.
She opened her eyes. The room was empty.
No Dante. No Atlas. Just her, alone in the black silk sheets.
She sat up slowly, wincing. Looked down at herself. Clean bandages on her wrists. Her wounds had been treated. Painkillers in her system—she could feel the dull edge they gave the pain.
Atlas had done that. While she was unconscious. Clinical. Detached. The way Dante demanded.
