Chapter 17 – An Unbreakable Vow with the Heartless Tycoon

Robert nods and he and the maids drag Lily from the room. She begs for mercy, and her terrified screams echo down the long hall.

Exhausted from the late night and scared of Waylen’s threat, Leilani feels especially unnerved by Lily’s screams. Effortlessly, Waylen lifts her off the ground and carries her toward his room. She can still hear Lily in the distance, and she suppresses a shudder.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asks derisively.

“Afraid?”

“No, you won’t dare do anything.”

With a swift motion, she pulls a cell phone out of her pajama pocket. She taps the screen and opens a live broadcasting app. A small green dot flickers on the screen indicating that she has started recording.

“Who’s interested in learning all about Mr. Waylen Bamford’s penchant for domestic violence?” she asks.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s a live broadcast, of course. I want the world to know what the ill.u.s.trious Waylen Bamford does to his wife.”

Waylen frowns, but he can’t take the phone without dropping her.

“Oh, yes,” she says with satisfaction, “Domestic violence will be decisive for the divorce.”

“Leilani!” he hisses, furious.

“Angry again? Oh, you’ll get angry with me every single day as long as we remain married,” she says.

Waylen kicks the door of his room open and puts her down. Suddenly dizzy, she stumbles against him. He grabs her and throws her onto the bed; though the bed is soft, the impact takes her breath away. He pulls the phone from her hand and carelessly tossed it aside. His strength terrifies her.

Waylen towers above her. In his dark suit, he looks like a natural-born predator. His face is distorted with rage.

“You want to live broadcast what happens between us?” he asks, tearing the top button off her pajama shirt, “Leilani, you are the first woman who dares to challenge me like this.”

“You’re nothing but an abusive loser,” she says.

“A loser?” Waylen asks.

“Yes, a loser,” she says, “You disgust women. They’d never willingly sleep with you so you have to use force on them.”

Waylen feels his blood boil.

“We’ll see about that,” he threatens, “In a few minutes, you’ll be begging me to touch you.”

Leilani props herself up on her elbows and tries to reach for her phone. Stretching out his long arm, Waylen grabs the phone, turns off the live broadcast, and types a quick message. Within moments, a maid enters the room carrying the purple candle on a silver tray.

“Ah, I was wrong,” Leilani says lightly, “You’re not a loser who forces women; you’re a loser who drugs them.”

Unperturbed by her words, Waylen gestures for the maid to light the candle. The purple wick flickers and a faint but potent fragrance begins to fill the room. Leilani smells ambergris and musk, but she knows the more dangerous borrachero is odorless.

She feels her temperature rise, and her face begins to flush. An unspeakable desire builds in the pit of her stomach, and her most intimate part begins to tingle. Waylen stands motionless at the bedside, watching her with amus.e.m.e.nt like a predator enjoying the final death struggle of its prey.

Leilani’s eyes are blurred with drugged desire, but she shouts, “You’re sick!”

Waylen used to be disgusted by men who drugged women; it seemed like a cheap shot. But he’s willing to do anything to make her beg him for it as she did two nights ago. He’d never wanted to touch a woman before that night and he never had. Then suddenly, the passion he felt with Leilani changed everything. Now he can’t stop thinking about the feel of her beneath him, the smell of her skin, the sound of her m.o.a.ns.

Leilani pants with the sudden heat and lies limply on the bed. It feels like her every nerve ending is on fire.

“Beg me to touch you,” he commands.

Waylen’s masculine smell fuels Leilani’s desire, and she desperately grasps the front of his shirt. She looks at her hands on his shirt, frowns, and releases her grasp.

“No!” she protests, “I don’t want you.”

Waylen scowls and thinks of the men she embraced last night. He thinks of the pictures of her leaning into Charles’ arms at the hospital.

“Who do you want?” he asks, “Charles?”

Leilani focuses her remaining sanity on infuriating him, “Yes.”

He gasps and leans forward. His head feels like it might explode; his entire body is hot with rage.

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” he asks her.

“Don’t come near me!”

She scoots away as he approaches. She’ll feel filthy if she lets him touch her.

“The world’s most powerful aphrodisiac can’t even make her want me?” Waylen thinks.

He sweeps the candle off the nightstand and onto the floor. The glass jar shatters and candle wax coats the expensive wool carpet. Flames quickly spread across the rug, burning it in a foul-smelling blaze. Lance reaches for her ankle, but his hand catches space instead.

The fire makes the burning in Leilani’s body even more intolerable, but it sobers and calms her mind.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams.

Waylen ignores her and crawls across the bed, reaching for her. Though she’s weak and dizzy from the borrachero, she musters all her strength and scoots away from him. Her back hits the corner of the bedside table. Ignoring the sharp pain, she reaches behind her and grabs the lamp. It feels heavy in her weakened arms, but she manages to throw it at Waylen.

Waylen dodges the lamp effortlessly. Leilani grabs a heavily bound book and hurls it at him. It slams into his left arm and he grunts with surprise and pain. Instead of relenting, the pain makes him even more determined, and he wraps his fingers around his ankle. In a panic, Leilani reaches for something else to throw, but there’s nothing left on the table. Waylen yanked her ankle and pulled her toward him.

Waylen moves Leilani’s body as easily as he would a doll. Leilani twists the ring as Charles showed her, and the silver needle appears. She waves it like a weapon.

“I’m warning you,” she says, “Don’t touch me.”

“Are you going to stab me?” Waylen asks incredulously.

Leilani continues to surprise him. In spite of all the sudden changes to her personality, he never would have expected her to carry a concealed weapon. He lets go of her ankles and studies her thoughtfully.

The silver needle flashes in the dim light. It’s about the length of Leilani’s middle finger. Concealed in the ring, it was bent, but now it’s straight and sharp. She sits up and holds the needle close to his shirt. In one easy motion, it could go straight through his clothes and deep into his chest. She wonders if it’s long enough to reach his heart.

“You wouldn’t dare on your own,” he regards the needle with a calculating look, “Would you like me to help you?”

He leans toward her, allowing the silver needle to pierce his shirt and gently prick his chest. She hesitates, suddenly uncertain. It’ll only take a little strength to push such a long, sharp needle into his heart.

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