I don’t doubt that he would.
But if he’s giving me the chance to change, there must be something inside him, some scrap of humanity. Maybe I can?—
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” He grips my arm, fingers digging into my skin like iron. There’s no room for argument. No words. No pleas. No chance of escape. He drags me down the hall like a rag doll, his grip unrelenting. “Nothing you say or do will get you out of this.”
He flicks the bedroom light on, his sharp hazel eyes scanning the space. His gaze lingers on my vision board, plastered with images of pastries and storybook bakery storefronts. His nose wrinkles in distaste.
He moves to my narrow bookshelf, lined with dark fairy tales, and framed gothic art prints. His eyes grow flinty, filled with an emotion I can’t place. I guess it must seem silly to him—thisroom filled with romanticized fantasies, with wishes and wants that hold no value in reality.
“Hurry up. Get dressed and pack a small bag.”
My heartbeat ricochets against my ribs as I quickly pull on jeans and a T-shirt, feeling his feral, wolf-like eyes tracking my every move. This is the same man who devoured me last night like I was the last woman on earth.
But now? Now his hunger is gone. Replaced with somethingdarker. Something closer tohate. Humiliation burns hot across my chest, a knot of fire that’s impossible to swallow. After I get the money, I never want to see this asshole again.
Him or my father.
Damian yanks an old black backpack from the corner of my desk chair and dumps its contents onto my desk. Books, candy wrappers, and dozens of crumpled sketches of wedding cakes and holiday pastries scatter everywhere.
He throws the empty bag at me. “Faster.”
Before I can move, angry voices explode from just outside the apartment. My pulse spikes. Frantically, I rip through my drawers, stuffing handfuls of clothes and whatever else I can grab into the bag without looking. None of it matters. The only things Icareabout are my purse and my meds. Without those, I’m screwed. I double-check them. Then I triple-check, just to be sure.
Damian snatches the bag from me, zips it up, and slings it over his shoulder. “Grab a coat. Let’s go,” he grunts, his fingers clamping down around my upper arm like a vice. His grip issotight, I already know I’ll be black and blue within the hour.
As soon as my fingers brush my coat, my feet leave the floor. A startled gasp rips from my throat as I’m thrown over Damian’s shoulder like a damn potato sack.
Holy shit.
He carries me effortlessly, like I weigh nothing.Fuck,he’s strong. I instinctively clutch at his waistband to steady myself, my fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans. Warmth from his body seeps through my clothes, sinking into my skin.
I let out a frustrated groan.
Stop it, Lo. Stop thinking of him like that, you stupid psycho.But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the memory of the way he moaned when he came in my mouth.
Damian curses under his breath. It’s quiet, barely audible. But I swear I heard it.
Then Joel’s face appears beside mine, shouting threats. Without thinking, I grab my coat and throw it in his face. “Back off,” I snap.
Joel lets out an annoyed growl, but Damian doesn’t stop moving. “Joel, quit it,”Damian bites out. “She said she’ll go. I’ll text you when the money is in my hands.” His arm tightens around the backs of my thighs as he strides through my apartment and down the narrow staircase.
I swear. I swear his thumb rubs small, slow circles into the fabric of my jeans, right below the curve of my ass.
But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just imagining it.
Chapter Seven
DAMIAN
The woman, Marlowe, sits in the backseat of the rental car, her electric blue eyes fixed straight ahead, wide with terror. Black-framed glasses rest on her nose, her wild curls framing a face so striking it’s almost unnerving. I never thought I’d see her again.
“You want to let me in on what’s happening?” Bridger hisses as he fumbles for his seatbelt.
Bridger never uses a seatbelt. My gaze flicks to the speedometer. It’s shaking around 110. Shit. Last thing I need is to get pulled over. I ease off the gas and glance into the rearview mirror again. Her expression is lethal. I still can’t believe it’s the same woman from last night. And to think I was pissed when I woke up to an empty bed this morning. It takes every ounce of self-control not to snap her neck right now or strangle her while I’m balls deep inside her.
Get a grip on yourself, man.
“I have to pee,” she says in that smoky voice of hers.
