She does not know the extent of my depravity. What I did for her. The risk I took doing it. But now that I know everything, I would do it again, even knowing how much she enjoyed the thought of watching me rot in prison.
Blyat, she was beautiful that day when the jury read the verdict. That fire in her eyes. The way her mouth tightened like she was choking on glass. It lit something in me, something unnatural and possessive.
Not because I wanted her. Because I broke her.
And last night, I reminded her who’s in control.
I can still see her in the rearview mirror as I drove away: green eyes blazing, fingers digging into the door like she couldn’t decide whether to claw my face off or drag me back and make me finish what I’d started.
I would bet anything that she went home telling herself it was hate, contempt…every holy little word that makes her feel clean. But I know better. I felt the way her pulse jumped under my hand. I know how her body clamped around my fingers, greedy even when her mouth told me no.
Her body already understands what her mind refuses to admit: she’ll bend for me. Completely.
She really thought she could take me down? Walk into a courtroom and strip a man like me to flesh and bone and I would just let her? Did she actually think the trial was the end of it, that I’d walk out and forget her name, her face, the way her lips curled when she thought she had won?
No.
Fiona has no idea what real power looks like.
Real power does not need a gavel or a badge. It watches. It waits. And when it strikes, it doesn’t leave witnesses.
I switch to another feed. She’s outside the courthouse talking to that other prosecutor, Dana. The one with the laugh too shrill to be tolerated. I nearly killed her just to shut her up, but I was trying to be civil.
Konstantin says I act too fast. That I should think things through before making them permanent. He might have a point. Not that I would ever admit that to my brother.
My jaw locks as Fiona brushes a hand through her hair, the same hand that slapped me last night. I felt that slap in my damn blood. She doesn’t realize how close I came to kissing her until her lips bled.
Or maybe she does. Maybe she likes to pretend she’d turn me away, but I know better.
I could’ve killed her. Would’ve even made it painless because I’m such a nice guy. But where’s the satisfaction in that?
What I have planned is going to be a lot more entertaining. It’s what she likes, isn’t it? Turning everything into a performance, just like in court.
She doesn’t understand how badly she’s infected me, how deeply she’s lodged herself inside places I thought were dead. And now she’s there, a slow poison I have no intention of curing.
Because she made it personal.
And I will make it worse. I’ll hunt her in the dark, and I will be smiling when I take her apart. One nail at a time.
I’m going to take everything from her. Her freedom. Her body. Her damn soul.
She’ll tell herself she has a choice. That she can fight me, that the law will save her. But I will close every door, burn every exit, until the only path left leads straight to me.
And when she finally comes, it won’t be because she wants to. It will be because there’s nowhere else to go. Not because I want her. But because I can. For the pleasure in her pain.
She has no idea what’s coming. No idea how far I will go. But she will soon enough.
I stare at her again, my body pumping with adrenaline. She’s wearing red today. The color of power. Of blood.
She’s getting ready for another war, except she has no idea she’s already in one. And I won’t lose.
Her eyes flick to the streetlamp as she steps off the curb, like she senses me. She always does. A pull neither of us want to name.
But I don’t need her. I just want to ruin her. Want her begging for mercy I will never give. Want her desperate for me until she hates herself.
And when she has nothing left, I’ll make Fiona Clark look me in the eyes and thank me for the wreckage.
CHAPTER FOUR
