Scorching rage roars through me. Not the controlled anger I’m accustomed to, but a wilder, more primitive sensation. Islam the glass down on the counter violently enough that water sloshes over the rim.
She flinches.
A reaction. Finally. The first crack in her emptiness.
I grab her wrists, yanking her hands away from her face. Water cascades down her arms, soaking into the borrowed t-shirt.
She doesn’t resist.
I back her against the counter, caging her in with my body, my hands still locked around her wrists. “Look at me.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time since the shooting, I glimpse emotion filling the emptiness. Fear, yes. And defiance underneath that. But most of all, a deep, simmering fury. Those darker emotions have smothered her light.
The light I risked my life to preserve and bring back with me.
This maddening woman is driving me fucking crazy. I’ve spent years building a reputation for meticulous control and cold calculation. For never letting emotion dictate my actions. Yet here I am, acting on pure instinct, pushing and prodding for a reaction like a child poking at a wounded animal.
Part of me wants to stop, retreat, and regain the control that’s defined my life. But a more primal part wants to give in to this rush, to let go completely and see what happens when I stop calculating and start feeling.
The realization should terrify me. Instead, I tighten my grip and hover closer.
In one violent motion, I slam my mouth down on hers.
There’s nothing gentle or romantic or seductive about it. It’s the kiss of a conqueror, an angry, selfish act meant to provoke rather than delight. My lips crush against hers, demanding a response.
Nothing.
She’s as silent and rigid as a statue.
My teeth graze her lower lip, nipping at the delicate skin. I release her wrist to cup the back of her neck, tangle my fingers in her hair, and hold her in place as I ravage her with my mouth. I yank her head back, changing the angle.
I’m not trying to reignite her light anymore.
I’m trying to devour what’s left.
Some dark and primitive drive has overtaken me, a need to possess completely what I’ve claimed as mine. I need her fire, her fight, her defiance, even her hatred.
My fingers slide from her neck to her hip, stopping there to dig into soft flesh through the thin fabric of sweatpants. I use my body to pin her to the counter, leaving her no room to retreat. The kiss deepens and grows more demanding, more invasive.
And then, for a split second, her body betrays her.
Life and light come flooding back.
A small, startled moan escapes her throat. Her captured wrist slackens in my grip. Her lips soften beneath mine and part. For one heartbeat, maybe two, she responds to the kiss, her body arching toward mine.
Then her eyes widen, and she goes rigid again.
Her free hand slams against my chest. The frantic, desperate push catches me off guard more from its suddenness than its force. She twists her face away, breaking the kiss while trying to jerk her other wrist free of my grip. The counter behind her thwarts her attempt to retreat.
The shove pierces the haze of madness that grapples me.
I release her and stumble back. My breath comes in harsh, uneven gasps. The sweetness that’s uniquely hers lingers on my lips. My heart hammers against my ribs.
She stays pressed against the counter, as far from me as she can get without actually moving. Her hands fly to her mouth, fingers trembling against swollen lips. Those clear green eyesthat began haunting me back in the alley widen with hatred and fear and fury. But there’s more too. Something so much worse.
Violation.
I became the monster. The very thing she feared from the beginning.
