The word flew from her lips before M could stop it. She couldn’t take her eyes off the long, hollow needle Sir held in his hand. Though he didn’t shout, Sir’s voice was hard as steel. “Are my ears deceiving me? Did I hear you say no?” Remorse hurtled through M, but fear of the needle was stronger. Her usual mantle of calm acceptance had slipped, and panic prickled over her skin like a hoard of fire ants. Though she rarely thought of her past life, and in fact recalled very little of it, her deep-seated aversion to needles went deeper than memory, and she took a step back, wrapping her arms protectively over her breasts. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she managed. “But please, not the needle. I’ll do anything you say, but I can’t—” In a flash he’d closed the distance between them, his hand gripping her hard by the back of the neck as he leaned his face close to hers, his words silencing her. “You will do anything I say, and there are no buts about it. This isn’t about what you can or can’t do.
