Twisted Vow (Sinful Truths Book 2)

by Ella Miles

  And again and again and again.

  I hear the door open to the basement stairs.

  My guard, Pete, who is sitting across from me, looks at his watch. He’s been sitting reading a newspaper like it’s the 1950s or something. It must be time for a guard change.

  He stands up, ready to vacate his seat for his replacement.

  My guards have mostly rotated between the same three men. Occasionally, a new guard works into the mix. But it should be Frank who takes over, unless there has been a change or it’s his day off.

  But when I hear the click, click, click of the footsteps on the stairs, I know there has been a change in the guard schedule, and not a good one.

  “Thank you, Pete. I got it from here,” Siren says.

  I refuse to look at her. I’m lying on the makeshift bed I made on the floor with the pillows and blankets the guards have been bringing me. I have a book opened on my stomach, and I pretend to read.

  Ignore her.

  She doesn’t get to see how angry she’s made me. And I sure as hell won’t fall for any more of her tricks.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be? You aren’t even going to look at me?” she asks in her snarky, annoying voice. I can’t believe I didn’t realize how annoying her voice was before—that’s because it’s not annoying, not even now.

  Focus—read the words in my book. But all I see is blah, blah, blah on the page.

  “We tracked down your friends. Their yacht is off the shores of Greece,” she says.

  I growl and finally look up at her.

  She’s standing in a tight black dress, sharp heels, and red lipstick. Her dress cuts down in the front, revealing her ample cleavage, and she’s not wearing a bra, so her nipples point sharply at me. At least they do until she folds her arms in front of her chest and sways her hips to the side.

  “You’re lying,” I say.

  “Am I? I don’t lie.”

  “No, you don’t. That is the only honest thing about you. But your words weren’t sharp, you’re biting your lip, and your heart rate has picked up. You’re lying.”

  She unfolds her arms. “Does it matter if I was lying? I got you to talk to me, so mission accomplished.” She smiles and gives me a wink.

  I shake my head in annoyance. How can I keep letting her get under my skin? I try to go back to my book, but I know it’s no use.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  She licks her lips, and then walks back and takes a seat in the chair. She crosses her legs, and as she does, her dress rises higher up her thighs.

  She wore the dress to taunt me—don’t fall for it.

  “For you to yell at me,” she answers.

  I frown. “What?”

  I try to figure out her angle. Why would she come here so I could yell at her? What game is she playing now?

  “You heard me. Now bring it. Yell at me like you want to. You’ll feel better,” she says, motioning for me to bring it on with a wave of her hand.

  I stand up, my anger getting the best of me. “I don’t want to get it out. I want to harness my anger into giving you everything you deserve.”

  She tilts her head. “You sure you don’t want to yell at me, Zeke Kane?”

  A low rumble of a growl escapes. She knows my last name. Which means she has done her research. She has looked up Enzo and possibly Kai. And every other person who works for Enzo. She could have been telling the truth when she said she knew where their yacht is right now.

  I take a step backward, realizing how stupid I was to tell her my secret. Even if I thought we were starting something incredible together. Even if I thought she could turn into the love of my life, I should have never trusted her. I should have never spoken a word about Enzo Black. I should have protected him with my life like I vowed to do all those years ago.

  “You weren’t lying, were you?” I ask.

  She raises an eyebrow. “We don’t know Mr. Black’s exact location, but we will soon enough.”

  I frown.

  “Now, are you ready to take me up on my offer of yelling at me?” she asks.

  No, because who I really want to yell at is myself.

  I grab the bars and shake them; the metal of the bars rattles, but otherwise, they don’t budge.

  She jumps at my outburst.

  I’m the strong, quiet type. I don’t let my emotions get the best of me. But with her, I’m all emotion.

  She takes a deep breath and then leans forward in her chair. “You would have done the same thing if you were in my shoes, Zeke.”

  I feel like she just slapped me, punched me in the gut, threw me from a moving car. Because if that is what she really thinks, she didn’t learn a thing about me in our time together.

  “No, I wouldn’t have. I’m not a monster!” my voice ricochets off the brick walls, and I watch her heart thump wildly against her chest. I can be terrifying when I want to be. My physical size alone makes me scary, but then when you pair it with my deep, intimidating voice and my bursting muscles, I become a beast. That’s what Siren called me—a beast. But it’s clear she really thinks of me as a monster.

  I pant my breaths in and out, still gripping the bars. Bars I could bend with my bare hands. But then what? Could I really hurt her?

  Yes.

  No.

  Fuck.

  I study her closer, and I can no longer tell why her body is trembling, her heart speeding, her breath catching. Why are her lips parting, her tongue resting on the edge of her plump bottom lip, and her eyes growing big? Is she afraid of me? Or is she turned on? Or maybe it’s all an act?

  I decide it’s option number three. She’s a better actor than she initially let on. It has to be. If she works for Julian, then she isn’t afraid of any man. Especially one locked behind bars. And there is no way she’s turned on by me, not when she thinks I’m a twisted monster. She’s just acting so she can learn more secrets from me.

  She stands up and flips her hair in that seductive way all women know how to do—tossing it sexily over her shoulder. Her eyes lock with mine.

  Don’t get drawn into her! Don’t let her draw you back under her spell. She’s a siren, remember.

  She keeps walking, not stopping until her face is inches from mine.

  I could reach out and grab her. Strangle her with my bare hands. Or bash her head against the bars. I could knock her out and search her body for a weapon, key, or cell phone—something that would help me get out of here.

  But I don’t.

  I can’t.

  And my siren, knows it.

  It’s why she isn’t scared of me even though I’m bigger and stronger than she is. Yes, she manipulated me into this cage. Yes, she used her physical skills against me. But the only reason she won is because I was in too much shock to fight back.

  Siren grabs the bars, just below where I’m holding them. Our breaths mix together in the space between us. And my body can’t decide between choking her and kissing her.

  Goddammit, why do I have to be such a man? And why does she have to be so beautifully feminine?

  If she were a man, I wouldn’t hesitate. I would knock her out in seconds.

  No—it’s not that she’s a woman. It’s that she’s her—Siren, strong, fierce, and a woman I wanted to protect. My feelings can’t change for her in an instant. It takes time. I’m pissed, but it doesn’t stop me from lusting after her. Especially when I never got to sink my cock inside her.

  I want nothing more than to fuck her hard, fast, and uncontrollably against every rough surface I can find—the wall, the dining room table, the hood of my car, the coarse sand.

  “How do we take down Mr. Black?” she asks.

  I don’t blink; I don’t move. If she thinks I will ever answer that question, she’s an idiot. I would never betray my boss and friend. Enzo Black is one of only a handful of people I even consider my family.

  She sighs, her head dropping slightly.

  “You lost, Zeke. Don’t make this any harder t
han it has to be,” she whispers.

  Our eyes meet again. “I’m not the one making this hard.”

  Her eyes flutter down; all this talk about making me hard makes her glance at my dick. And yes, it’s fucking hard as a rock, but that’s not what we are talking about.

  I shake the bars again, and she comes back to reality. Her eyes resume her gaze on mine.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Zeke.”

  “You already did.”

  “Save yourself. For once, put yourself above others.”

  “No, that’s not who I am. I protect my friends, my family. I protect those who are innocent. I protect—that’s who I am.”

  She cocks her head to the side, giving me a disappointed, scared for me look. So I deliver the final blow.

  “I just shouldn’t have protected you,” I say.

  Siren closes her eyes as my words sting her. But she’s not Siren anymore; she’s Aria. She’s no longer in control. It doesn’t matter that I’m in this cage, and she’s out in the open. It doesn’t matter that she manipulated me. My words hurt her. She’s not the fierce woman willing to defy me; she’s scared and wearing her heart on her sleeve.

  I frown, narrowing my eyes as I study her, trying to remind myself that I thought she needed protecting before. She didn’t. Whatever I’m seeing displayed on her body right now is a lie. It’s not the truth. The only time she tells the truth is with her words, not her body. And her words are as much a riddle as they are the truth. Remember that.

  Slowly, Siren walks away. She’s a stranger to me now. She stops at the base of the stairs. She turns and looks at me, her hand resting against the wall.

  “Saving yourself will protect more than just you, Zeke,” she says, and then she’s gone.

  Just like that, she’s back to Siren. And I have no idea what to do with her parting words.

  3

  Siren

  I’m beyond frustrated.

  It’s been weeks, and I’ve made no progress on getting Zeke to spill his secrets. Julian is growing increasingly impatient with me. I’m running out of time before I have to deal with his wrath, but I’m no closer than I was weeks ago at getting Zeke to tell me anything about how to take down Mr. Black.

  And finding Black’s location on our own is futile. He travels too quickly in his yachts, going undetected through large spaces of water. By the time we find him, he’s already moved on to a different location. And his home base of Miami would be harder to attack than on the ocean.

  We could use Zeke as bait, lure him in by threatening Zeke’s life. But what if Mr. Black doesn’t care about Zeke like Zeke cares about his boss? Then all we would be doing is letting Black know that we have Zeke.

  I sigh as I pace the main floor of Zeke’s home. The furniture and decor are still ruined from when I threw my tantrum weeks ago.

  I know what I have to attempt next, but I don’t want to do it. But I’ve tried everything else. I was nice and brought Zeke everything he could desire to keep him comfortable: good food, alcohol, books—I even brought a television down for him to watch. But none of those things got me any secrets. I tried bribing him with everything I brought too. But I just got a grumpy shoulder shrug for all of my troubles.

  Bribing isn’t the way to go.

  I tried seducing him, using my body as bait, hoping he would spill a secret for a kiss, a blowjob, anything.

  Nada.

  That got me nowhere except my own flush red face when Zeke called me out for dressing like a slut. He looked me dead in the eye and swore he would never touch me again, let alone fuck me.

  So today, I’m being myself. I’m wearing jeans and a tight-fitting black V-neck T-shirt. My hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. And I’m wearing makeup that makes me feel fierce, not slutty.

  Because today I need all the strength I can get in order to take the next step with Zeke.

  Joel, one of the guards, approaches me. “You ready?”

  I nod.

  “He’s all yours then. He’s in a foul mood. I doubt you are going to get any information out of him.”

  I look past Joel to the door to the basement. Good, I’m glad Zeke is in a foul mood. Because I’m about to put him in a worse mood.

  I don’t answer Joel. I just walk past him and descend the stairs.

  Zeke is lying in his bed. Sometimes when I come downstairs, he’s pacing or doing pushups or pull-ups. The pull-ups are my favorite—watching his biceps tense and curl his body up while he’s shirtless is beyond sexy. But today he’s lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling as he tosses a small ball up in the air.

  I can tell from the creases on his forehead and the lost look in his eyes that he doesn’t even notice my presence. He’s in his own world. He’s just as annoyed with this situation as I am.

  I clear my throat. “Ready to talk today? Or are you going to keep wasting your life away in that cell?”

  I already know his answer, but it doesn’t keep me from asking every damn day, hoping he will answer me with even the smallest piece of information and put us both out of our misery.

  Zeke’s eyes cut to me. He chuckles to himself.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Tired of dressing like a whore, huh? Now you’re going to try the tough, badass girl look?”

  I look down at my outfit. I guess I wear my emotions on my body, but I’m just trying to prepare us both for what has to happen next.

  “I guess so. You made it perfectly clear you don’t find me attractive anymore, so why keep trying? Those dresses and heels weren’t comfortable. I’d much rather wear jeans and boots.”

  He stares down at my boots. “Going to kick my ass with those boots? If so, you should make sure they have a metal toe; they will do more damage that way.”

  I hate how he can read me without saying anything. He knows I’m not here to play nice like I have every other day. Today, I’m here to hurt him. He can sense everything about me, which is why it was so surprising that my original plan worked; that I was able to trick him at all.

  I didn’t trick him, though. I didn’t lie to him. Everything I did, felt, and said was the truth, even if it was the twisted truth.

  “I wouldn’t risk getting blood on my favorite pair of boots,” I say.

  He tosses the ball in the air again, ignoring me.

  “But I’m done being nice.”

  Catch, toss, catch, toss…

  I bite my lip to keep my frustration in. Spitting harsh words at him has no effect. The pain I inflict has to be physical. Hurting Zeke, spilling his blood, and scarring his body won’t get him to talk, but at least I can tell Julian I tried everything.

  But the thought of scarring Zeke’s beautiful skin, cutting through his tattoos, and penetrating his muscles makes me sick. It will be more torturous for me than him.

  I need something quick and effective. Something that will inflict the most pain with the least amount of effort. I’ve tortured plenty of men before. It’s basically my job. But with Zeke—something stops me. Maybe it’s knowing he didn’t sell all those women—he saved them—that keeps me from wanting to hurt him.

  Zeke studies me closely as he keeps tossing that stupid ball in the air. Whichever guard gave them the ball is going to get an ear chewing because it’s driving me nuts right now.

  “You don’t have it in you to hurt me,” Zeke says, smirking.

  “Oh, really? Don’t think I will hurt you? Tell me again how you ended up in that cage,” I say.

  Zeke stands up, tossing the ball on the bed—thank god. And then he walks over to the bars of his cage, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “You may be an evil, selfish monster, but you don’t enjoy torturing others. If you did, you would have done it by now. You would have hurt me day one, not waited weeks, trying to butter me up to get me to talk. That’s how I know you won’t hurt me, at least not more than you already did. You played your hand too soon, sweetheart.”

  I snap.

  I grab my
gun from the waistband of my jeans. I aim. And fire.

  Zeke howls at the impact of the bullet driving into his leg. I’m an excellent shot. Where I hit him will result in a high level of pain without risking him bleeding out too quickly. But from the grimace on Zeke’s face, he was more concerned with the fact that the bullet was less than an inch away from hitting his most sensitive of areas.

  “You were saying?” I say with a grin on my face. I lower my hand, letting the gun rest next to my leg. I have no intention of shooting Zeke again, but he doesn’t know that.

  He grabs the metal bars, and I’m not sure if the move is meant to intimidate me or if he’s holding on to remain standing on his own two feet.

  I see blood ooze out from his inner thigh and spill onto his dark jeans. Beads of sweat form on his forehead as his body heats and fills with adrenaline to deal with the pain. A natural response for the body to try to stop the spread of infection.

  “Now, tell me something about your boss. Something we can use to track him down or penetrate his security systems. Just one tiny piece of information, and I’ll get you some painkillers, antibiotics, and gauze to deal with that wound.”

  A half chuckle, half growl rumbles from his body. “You think shooting me in the leg, narrowly missing my crown jewels, hurts me enough to give up even the smallest information about my friends?”

  “Nope. I think I could bring you to the edge of death, and you still wouldn’t give them up.”

  “Then why did you shoot me?”

  I shrug. “Because I’m tired of being underestimated. The reason I haven’t tortured you isn’t because I can’t handle watching a man in pain. I’ve tortured plenty of men. I just know you. I know hurting you isn’t the way to get you to tell me your secrets.

  “That’s why I didn’t just capture and torture you like I would other men. It’s why I didn’t just pick you up in a bar and seduce you. You aren’t that kind of man. Torture won’t work.”

  I smile, looking at his wound. “But it does make me a little happy to know you won’t question me again. Because next time, I won’t aim for your leg. I’ll see if hurting you in the most intimate of ways will get you to spill.”