He’s still smiling with a casual, friendly lip curve that doesn’t reach his calculating, flat eyes. The smile feels like a threat, the scariest thing I’ve seen since entering.
I need an excuse, and I need onenow.
“Uh.” My brain betrays me by short-circuiting. What comes out is a strangled sound, a struggle of a response. “No. Just trying to find the exit, actually.”
His gaze remains fixed. He doesn’t look at the main entrance but instead fixes his eyes beyond me, toward one of the heavy doors. His smile slightly broadens, subtly acknowledging my weak lie. Then, he presses his hand steadily against the small of my back.
“Let me help,” he says with a low, inviting purr that leaves no room for refusal. “Right this way.”
I don’t get the chance to respond before I’m being pushed toward my destination. Like he doesn’t want to make a scene, he leads me toward a place I’m starting to think isn’t harboring Eliza.
The door easily swings open with Ripper’s free hand, swinging back closed as he pushes me through.
I don’t even get the chance to take in the bare room, not before I’m being pushed against the wall right next to the door.
My breath catches as his hand touches my throat. He doesn’t squeeze hard enough to cut off my air, just enough to create pressure with my next nervous swallow. As fear fills my chest, my immediate reaction is to try to grab his wrist.
This guy might as well be made of steel because he doesn’t even wince when I dig my nails into his flesh.
He leans in, filling my lungs with that same spice smell from earlier. Cinnamon. My head spins, and my legs feel weak. Is it because of the fear he’s bringing out of me, or is ithim?
His smile morphs into a flat line, and the danger I sensed from him earlier is now fully radiating from him.
“Tell me something.” His command drops out like a purr as his thumb brushes my racing pulse. “You don’t belong here. So, who are you? Don’t even think about lying again, beautiful. Once was enough, even if it was a pathetic attempt.”
Does it matter? Regardless of the answer, I’m pretty sure I’m doomed. This Adonis-like guy is the one likely to be the one to end me.
2
Ripper
The moment she stepped inside, I knew she didn’t belong. All it took was the first few steps into the building to make my eyes flicker in her direction.
I don’t see pretty women like her too often. Not ones that are radiating with normalcy and innocence.
Something drew me to her instinctively, and now I have her exactly where I want. If she’s a threat, I can handle her without Judge wasting time on something beneath him.
I have a blade on one hip and a pistol on the other. I would hate for the clean-up to ruin such beauty just because an intruder tried to sneak around.
“Well?” My patience is a frayed wire. I’ve never been the type to wait. I believe in acting on impulse, getting things done right in the moment so it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.
Right now, the impulse is telling me to pat her down, to check her back pockets for a weapon or ID—anything to explain thetension coiling in my own gut. I need to know who she is before Jane Doe here manages to start distracting me now that we’re this close.
I feel the frantic thrum of her pulse against my fingertips where I hold her, a wild bird trapped in a cage of bone. My eyes flick down, inexplicably drawn to her mouth. There’s a slight wobble to her bottom lip, a soft, vulnerable tremor that leaves me swallowing hard.
I tilt my head, a strange, unbidden thought intruding. Do they feel as plump as they look?
Women have always been a weakness, but more for pleasure. When my fingers are usually wrapped around their throat, it’s moans of pleasure filling my ears, not shaky breaths of fear.
At the moment, I don’t think my cock can tell the difference. The confusion of it all has it hard as steel, digging into the metal teeth of the zipper of my jeans.
Maybe that’s what pulled me in—a different kind of danger.
All week, I’ve been waiting for any movement regarding the Crimson Road MC. I haven’t had sex, putting all of my attention on the club over my own body. Now I’ve got a pretty woman right here, and I’m struggling to draw a line.
Lifting my gaze, I’m ready to move on, to get my answers through less delicate means, when I see it.
Without warning, her brown eyes overflow. A single tear breaches the dam and tracks down her cheek. I flinch as it drips onto my wrist. The sensation is scalding. Then her face floods instantly, silent and devastating.
