"Collateral? For what? Jésus?"

I smile. "You ask too many questions."

"Oh, I'm sorry that I'd like to know why you've dragged me to this hellhole. How rude of me." She rolls her eyes and takes another gulp of wine.

I release an exasperated sigh. "Your brother's cooperation is needed for a short time."

"Is that so? What could a Russian possibly want with my brother?"

"It's of no concern to you."

"Maybe you just wanted a new whore?" A wave of ebony hair pours over her shoulder when she tilts her head. "You're such a charming individual. I can't see why you'd have to force a girl." 

My jaw ticks from her insult. "Do they raise everyone in Mexico without the slightest hint of respect?"

"I'm Colombian. I was raised to respect few things. Power, money, and blood—" She taps one nail over the stem of her wineglass. "The kind that would stain that designer suit of yours." 

"How very dramatic." 

The butler steps back into the room, placing our plates in front of us before exiting again. 

A small plume of steam rises from the filet mignon. I open my linen napkin, laying it delicately across my lap before taking my fork and knife in hand. Just as I cut into the meat, something whistles past my ear, followed by a muted thud behind me. 

I look up from my meal to find Camilla standing with her palms flat on the table, glaring at me like an angry jungle cat. 

"Shit.”

I glance over my shoulder at the steak knife embedded in the wall. How savage. I knew she was volatile, but, I'll admit, I may have underestimated her. Most people fear me like death itself. However, Camilla does not fear me, and I'd be lying if I said the idea of teaching her to doesn't utterly excite me.

On a sigh, I drop my fork to my plate and scoot my chair back. When I stand, I catch her brace against the table. She arches a single brow in a dare as I approach, and I do so like a dare... 

I grab her by the throat, digging my fingers into her jawline. Dishes and glasses break when I throw her to the table and pin her down by her neck. Most women would scream and claw at my hand. They would panic, but I barely feel her pulse pick up. 

 I shove my knee between her thighs and force them apart, then step between them and lean over her with a smile. The delicate, floral scent of her skin makes every bit of man in me bristle with tension. Camilla Estrada is a beautiful temptation from the way she looks to the way she feels trapped underneath me. I fight back urges, tightening my hold on her throat as I roll my lip across her cheek. "It would not be wise to test me.”

Without warning, her leg hooks my waist. The heel of her shoe digs into me when she pulls me against her, fighting to lift her neck from the table. I allow her an inch and her heated breath fans across the shell of my ear like a fire. Camilla is the type of woman any man would love to fuck, and I'm certain she's reduced many men of power to blubbering messes by techniques such as this, but it takes more than beauty and curves to sway me. 

"I've tested men far worse than you,” she whispers.

"There are no men worse than me.” 

I keep waiting for her heartbeat to quicken beneath my fingertips, for the fear to set in, but her pulse remains steady. This time when I tighten my hold on her throat, she groans. 

I swallow. Survival instincts are engrained deep, but this woman's absence of fear nearly makes me drunk with excitement. I snatch a knife from the table and drag the blade along the inside of her thigh, waiting for her pulse to beat fast and hard. And while it does pound faster, this is not the pace of fear. This is want. Basic lust. This is the dark side of humanity calling to be tamed.  

I press the pointed tip of the blade into her perfect flesh as I move the blade higher and higher. The moment my knuckles brush warm lace,  her legs fall open without an ounce of shame. Now this, this is dangerous because it beckons my depravity in a way I've never experienced. Fear is one thing...this is much more intoxicating because I can almost imagine cutting her while I fuck her. 

My dick swells and I drop my chin to my chest, fighting to maintain myself. 

Teeth rake the side of my throat. “I will kill you, Russian,” she says, and I can't help but fight a groan at her sweet promise.

"And I will hurt you, Krasivaya..." I nip at her bottom lip, skirting my tongue along its curve. I'm so tempted to bite harder to draw her blood and taste it. "In ways you can't possibly imagine.”

 "Promises, promises." She smiles against my mouth.

"Well, I do always make good on my promises." I press razor-sharp edge of the blade against her thigh. She gasps and bites her lip on a moan. Oh, dear god... A trickle of warm blood rolls over my knuckles, and I close my eyes. If I see that blood... Inhaling, I grind against her before I push away, clutching with the knife in my hand as I tell myself not to look at it yet.  

I snap my fingers on my way out of the room. Two men immediately brush past me. Seconds later, I hear dishes shatter against the wall and Camilla swear at them. My cock strains against my pants as I storm toward the living room. 

I assumed she would be a challenge, but I never believed she would be without fear. She is worthy prey, for what greater thrill is there than that of the hunt? The kill is merely a result. 

I close the living room door and glance at the knife. Droplets of brilliant ruby cling to the blade. And it’s nearly unbearable. Her lips, her curves, her temper. How volatile it would be to fuck her, to cut her...I pace the room, dragging my hand down my face because I fully believe Camilla Estrada will be even more beautiful when she bleeds for me.