Branded By The Devil's Cruel Kiss
Chapter 2
Elie stood before the massive oak doors. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the damp, freezing air. She placed both hands flat against the wet wood and pushed hard.
The heavy doors swung open.
The blinding light from the massive crystal chandelier in the grand foyer poured out, stabbing into her eyes. Elie squinted against the sudden brightness.
The foyer was completely empty. The central air conditioning blasted freezing air down on her. Her soaked clothes clung to her skin, and a violent shiver ripped through her spine.
The head butler stepped out from the shadows of the hallway. His face was a mask of pure disdain. He didn't offer a greeting. He didn't offer a towel. He simply raised a gloved hand and pointed a single finger toward the second floor.
Elie placed her dripping umbrella in the brass stand by the door. She stepped onto the thick, hand-woven Persian rug and walked toward the grand sweeping staircase.
She climbed the stairs, her wet boots making a squelching sound with every step. She walked down the long, silent corridor until she reached the end.
She stopped in front of the heavy, black double doors. Ebert's study.
Elie raised her hand. Her knuckles rapped twice against the solid wood. The sound was dull and heavy.
"Get in."
Ebert's voice came through the door. It was low, raspy, and completely devoid of any human warmth.
Elie turned the freezing brass doorknob and pushed the door open. She stepped into the massive, dimly lit study.
The room smelled heavily of expensive aged whiskey and rich cigar smoke. Ebert stood with his back to her, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows.
A flash of lightning illuminated his broad, rigid shoulders. The sheer physical dominance of his presence hit Elie like a physical blow. The air in the room felt instantly thinner.
Ebert slowly turned around. He held a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in his right hand. His deep, dark eyes locked onto her. It was the look of a venomous snake staring down a trapped mouse.
His gaze slowly dragged up and down her body, taking in her soaked, cheap grey sweater and her dripping jeans. A cruel, mocking sneer twisted the corner of his mouth.
He slammed the crystal glass down onto the solid mahogany desk.
The loud bang shattered the silence. Elie's shoulders flinched violently.
Ebert walked around the desk. He picked up a sleek, black designer gift box. He threw it hard.
The box hit the floor right at Elie's feet. The lid popped off.
A scrap of bright red silk spilled out onto the carpet. It was an evening gown. It had barely any fabric, designed to expose as much skin as legally possible.
"Put it on," Ebert commanded. His tone was laced with absolute, violent authority.
Elie stared down at the dress. The implication of that tiny piece of red silk made the blood drain entirely from her face. Her hands flew to the hem of her wet sweater, gripping it tightly.
She forced her head up. Her voice shook uncontrollably.
"Where... where are you taking me?" she asked, making one last, desperate attempt to understand.
Ebert closed the distance between them in three long strides. His expensive leather shoes made no sound on the carpet, but the danger radiating from him was deafening.
He reached out and grabbed her jaw. His large hand clamped down hard, his fingers digging into her skin, forcing her head up to meet his furious, dark eyes.
"Sinners don't get to ask questions," Ebert ground out through clenched teeth. "You only get to obey."
Elie's eyes burned with unshed tears. She stubbornly refused to let them fall. She jerked her head to the side, trying to break his iron grip.
Her resistance ignited a dark, violent spark in Ebert's eyes.
His free hand shot out. He grabbed the collar of her wet, grey sweater. He yanked downward with brutal force.
The sound of tearing fabric was loud and sharp. The collar of her sweater ripped open, exposing her pale collarbones and the smooth skin of her shoulder.
The freezing air conditioning hit her bare skin. Elie let out a sharp gasp. She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, trying to cover herself.
She stumbled backward in pure terror. Her back hit the hard oak door of the study. There was nowhere left to run.
Ebert stood over her, looking down at her trembling form. A twisted sense of satisfaction, mixed with a dark, suppressed fire, swirled in his eyes.
"You have two minutes to put that dress on," Ebert stated coldly. "Or you will face the consequences."
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