Steel and Seduction

Chapter two

Karina cried out in pain as Storm—the bear-like, hair-pulling brute—yanked the bag off her head, pulling out some of her hair in the process.

For the first time in what felt like hours, light flooded her vision. It was too much. She squinted painfully, raising her hand to shield her eyes.

"This is where you'll be staying," Storm grunted, holding the bag in his fist, a few strands of brown hair slipping from it to fall to the floor.

The world's worst hairdresser. Karina scowled at him, blinking away the harsh light as she took in her first glimpse of the room—the bedroom. Her lips parted in surprise.

She had expected to be locked away in a filthy warehouse or dragged to her father's club for a harsh interrogation.

But this room was... magnificent.

Where her bedroom at home had been a simple reflection of their poverty, offering only the bare necessities, this room had been carefully crafted by a master designer.

Dark blue panels lined the walls, creating a striking contrast with the bright white decorative coving. The ceiling was just as exquisite, featuring a rose medallion that stretched to each corner of the room.

At the center, an elegant chandelier cast a soft glow over the king-size bed, which was adorned with a foliate-themed bedspread in a deep, midnight blue.

A matching sofa sat in front of the bed, its upholstery a lustrous fabric that Karina knew would feel silk-soft to the touch.

She inhaled deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent that filled the room. It was a warmth she wanted to lose herself in, wrapping her in comfort.

Every detail was meticulously matched. The cream leather headboard aligned with the bedside tables, the sofa mirrored the bed, and the cushions on the sofa echoed the enormous circular rug beneath the bed, all reflected in the expansive mirror along the wall opposite the curtains.

The curtains were no less opulent. Floor-to-ceiling windows were dressed with sweeping drapes that Karina had only seen in movies—heavy pleated fabric, topped with matching cornices. Her faded blue curtains at home looked like rags in comparison.

The thought hit her like a sledgehammer, a harsh reminder of her constant poverty. At twenty-two, she should have had her life together.

Instead, she lived in her father’s dilapidated house, filled with the cheapest furnishings and a barely stocked fridge that was only ever replenished with discounted food.

But here...

Even the lamps screamed wealth.

She hated poverty—the suffocating weight of it pressing down on her, while she scrambled to break free, only to watch her father dig them further into the dirt.

Karina looked up at Storm, her feelings of loathing for him and the room intertwining. It was the only emotion she could muster. "How long?" she asked bitterly. "Hours? Days?"

"Until Stark decides you can leave." Storm turned and walked toward the door, ducking slightly to get through the frame. Beyond his imposing figure, a long corridor stretched, its gold-accented furnishings a stark contrast to her grim reality.

"Who is Stark? And what about my father? What’s going to happen to him?"

"Stark is my employer." Storm looked down at her with something that could have been pity—or disgust. "But I’d be more concerned about yourself, Ms. Grayson."

"Why?" she asked, panic rising in her chest. The grotesque luxury of the bedroom had momentarily distracted her from the idea of being tortured, tied to a chair. "I haven’t done anything wrong."

Before locking the door, Storm left her with a single question. "Haven’t you?"

As silence enveloped her, Karina’s attention began to drift around the room. She sank onto the bed—or rather, onto the silken cloud that seemed to mock the very concept of a bed. How can something be this soft? Money.

She rushed to the window, her desperation pushing her to search for any clue as to where she was being kept. When she saw the view, she almost laughed.

The open window allowed warm, still air to filter in, filled with the sounds of crickets and summer insects.

The moon hung low, full and radiant, casting soft, silvery beams across the garden. If she could even call it that, the garden was vast.

Squinting, she saw a Stark path winding through lush flowers and shrubs, leading to a serene pond.

Where the hell am I?

Storm’s question lingered, relentless, gnawing at her thoughts. Karina’s gaze fixed on the bedroom door, dreading whatever—or whoever—might be waiting on the other side.

Had she done something wrong? She chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating.

She had enabled her father far too long, that much was certain. Grayson's Gentlemen’s Club would have collapsed years ago without her, but was that a crime?

She thought of all the times she had turned a blind eye to the Club’s transactions—the stolen goods, the money laundering, the tax evasion.

She pressed her lips together. But no one was being hurt by it. There were no victims. The stolen items had been taken from massive companies whose insurance would cover it all.

Karina hugged her arms around herself. What was happening to her father right now? Were those men hurting him? Were they going to hurt her?

Was this entire luxurious bedroom—fit for royalty—just a way to lull her into a false sense of security?

She flinched as a door slammed somewhere in the house, its force making the mirror on the wall tremble.

The unknown gnawed at her mind like a sledgehammer. She sprang to her feet and started pacing the room.

Her breath caught when she entered the en-suite. The shower was enormous—designed to accommodate two shower heads and six downlights, which she thought was utterly ridiculous.

The sharp sound of the bedroom door closing behind her made Karina jump in fright.

A man cleared his throat, a gravelly noise that immediately put her on edge. Had Storm returned to finish yanking out her hair?

The driver had given her plenty of time to stew in his presence after he'd shoved a bag over her head and forced her into what she assumed was a van.

Karina crept around the corner. Relief flooded her when she saw it wasn’t Storm, but—

"Snow?" she whispered, unable to believe her eyes.

He was just like the teenager she'd once followed around, hopelessly infatuated, still recognizable beneath the brooding demeanor of a tall, scowling man.

Not even his jet-black hair could obscure the brilliance of his emerald eyes. A dark stubble covered his cheeks.

Where the Snow she had known had been lanky, a wiry boy who hadn’t yet grown into a man, this Snow stood confidently. A man in his prime, with broad shoulders, a dark beard, and tattoos that matched his hardened presence.

A smile broke through her worry, shattering it into pieces. Karina crossed the room on unsteady legs, throwing herself into his arms.

"Snow," she gasped, hitting his unexpectedly solid chest, clinging to him as though he were the only thing keeping her afloat in a sea of despair. "I thought you were still in prison," she choked, inhaling his once-familiar scent. Snow’s arms stayed rigid by his sides.

She pulled back. "You’re taller than I remember." The thought of Vincent hit her like a punch to the gut. Her lips pressed together in a tight line. She had been so relieved to see a friendly face that she had forgotten what he had done.

He had been the one to drive drunk and high, and in doing so, he had killed her brother.

His face remained impassive, but his eyes burned with an unspoken fury.

Karina tried to take a step back, but Snow's large hand gripped her chin, his touch rough and unyielding. It was a far cry from the gentle, protective manner he used to show her.

Her brother’s closest friend, who had always been kinder than Vincent ever was. "Snow..." she whispered, attempting to push him away. "What’s wrong with you?"

"With me?" Snow’s brow arched as a cruel glint flickered in his eyes. Karina squirmed in discomfort as his gaze roamed over her body, tracing her curves, just as Talon had done.

But this was Snow. Snow had taught her how to tie her shoes and how to ride a bike.

He had been a part of her childhood, a comforting and nurturing presence she could always rely on—more so than she had ever been able to with Vincent or her father.

"You're angry," Karina said, her voice shaky as Snow pressed her back against the wall.

"I was." His eyes gleamed with hate, an emotion he had never directed at her before. "But now I'm just disappointed in you, kitten."

Karina’s sharp intake of breath nearly choked her. Kitten. A name she hadn’t heard in years, a cherished relic from her past that had almost slipped away from her memories.

"You're not quite grown up enough to be a Karina," Snow had said not long after they met.

They had been at the local park next to the children’s home where Snow had grown up, on an early spring day filled with butterflies, bumblebees, and the sounds of laughter.

"I am so," Karina giggled, squealing as Snow pushed her higher and higher on the swings. She kicked her legs, soaring through the air. Snow had kept a close watch on her, even back then.

"You’re not a Kat, either," Karina had teased, leaning back with her long braid trailing behind her. "Definitely not a Kat."

Snow had quickly moved to the front of the swings. "Jump," he had dared her.

Without hesitation, Karina leapt into his arms, and Snow caught her effortlessly.

Giggling with delight, she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly.

Snow’s face had softened in surprise at her touch, as if it were something he’d never experienced before. But then, he had embraced her in return, holding her close with a fierce expression of joy.

At the age of 10, Snow had been a giant to her. As they stood in the bright sunlight, surrounded by laughter and the sounds of playful shouts, Karina could feel the connection between them, even then.

He had ruffled her hair, a smile of pride lighting his face. "Not a Kat, but maybe a kitten."

Karina had leaned against him, savoring the rare feeling of being cared for. She had murmured her acceptance of the nickname, a small but content sound escaping her.

"Come on, kitten. Let’s get you home," Snow had said, leading the way toward her house. "But first, let’s grab an ice cream cone."

Karina had giggled, her heart swelling with warmth. A nickname. Someone cared enough to give her a nickname!

Eighteen years had passed since that day, changing them both, but the effect of that old name still lingered. Kitten.

"What exactly did I do to disappoint you, Snow?" Karina asked, her voice steady. "Considering you were imprisoned for causing Vincent's death, I think the disappointment should be coming from my side."

Snow’s shadow loomed over her, pressing her harder against the wall. His grip on her chin was unforgiving.

A jolt of tension ran through her as his thumb brushed her lips, nothing more than a soft caress against their contours. His nostrils flared as his eyes locked on her mouth.

"Snow, I..."

"Shh," he whispered, his free hand beginning to trace the curve of her hip. He pushed his body into hers, his broad shoulders enveloping her completely. Karina squeaked as his hand slid down to the bottom of her breast.

A strange sensation surged through her, hot and consuming, stirring something deep within. She shifted, opening her mouth to speak—

Only for Snow to press his hand firmly over her lips. "What did I say?" he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.

Her attention was called to something pressing into her stomach. A long, thick length that seemed both eager and firm.

Oh god. She let out a muffled squawk of alarm. He was aroused. He was very aroused.

"Quiet." Snow pressed his nose into her neck, deeply inhaling. "Kitten," he growled savagely.

Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs, the sound magnified by Snow's hand partially covering her nose. Was this really happening? Karina was mesmerised by his eyes as she always had been.

Their green depths seemed to sink into her very soul, laying her bare for his examination. Something that he apparently seemed keen to explore.

An inch from her face, Snow removed his hand. His thumb trailed behind, pulling her bottom lip downwards slightly as it left. He dipped his head. Karina could feel his breath against her face.

The atmosphere between them hummed with energy and unspoken emotions. Karina tipped her chin upwards, reaching towards his lips.

She was going to kiss Snow, the boy she'd always yearned for, even at the young age of twelve. She closed her- "Stark."

Stark?

The word cut through them both, severing the connection.

Storm stood in the doorway, his broad frame and scowling face exuding an undeniable presence. "You're needed in the cellar."

Snow nodded without breaking eye contact with Karina, waiting for Storm to leave before he spoke.

"Who would have thought you'd end up just as deceitful as your father, kitten?"

Karina's brow furrowed in confusion, but Snow had already turned away.

"Wait," she stammered, trailing behind him. "You're Stark? The same Stark who destroyed my father and took me?" A whirlwind of emotions crashed within her. "I thought we were friends, Snow."

Even if he had some part in Vincent's death, she never imagined he could hold such ill will toward her.

He glanced back at her, his eyes burning with a deep, unmistakable hatred. "I thought so too, kitten."