“By becoming judge, jury, and…what?Executioner?”His jaw tightens.“You think James will stop at planting evidence?Because it sure as hell sounds like he gave you Farley’s severed hand as some kind of fucked-up gift.”
I think of Rick’s dead body in the Gas N’ Go bathroom.James’s hands, slick with blood, gripping my hips.The raw, primal claim of it.The way the violence had bled into the sex, becoming indistinguishable.
“James gets results,” I say.“He’ll do what I say.He’s already proven his loyalty.”
“Loyalty?“ Eddie steps closer and rakes his hair out of his eyes.The contained fury radiates off him like a physical heat.“He’s a predator, Sera.He wraps it up in devotion, in protection, but he’ll consume you.Drag you down into the dark with him.I did some digging, and “James” doesn’t even exist.He’s smoke.He’s covering for only himself, and he’s using you.”
He’s close now.Close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, the tight lines around his mouth.Close enough to feel the anger vibrating through him.His words sting.Not because they’re entirely wrong.Because they scrape against the part of me that craves the dark James offers, the part that’s already stained.
“Do you really thinkyou’reusing him?“ Eddie presses, his voice low and urgent.“You think you’re in control?He’s playing you, Sera.Using your pain, your rage, to justify his own violence.And you’re letting him.You’re becoming…”
“Becoming what, Detective?”My voice is a whisper, sharp as a razor.“One ofthem?One of the bad guys?”
The words hang in the air, an accusation and a confirmation all at once.
Something flickers in his eyes.Fear?For me?Or for himself?
“Yes,” he answers.
I push off the door, and one step brings me flush against him.His body is tense, coiled, and radiating heat.
“You keep telling yourself you’re trying to save me,” I murmur, my breath against his lips.“The noble detective, fighting the good fight.Protecting the innocent.”I lift my hand, not quite touching his chest.“But you’re lying.”
His breath hitches.His eyes are locked on mine, blue pools reflecting the dim hallway light and something deeper, hungrier.
“You’re not here to save me, Eddie.”My voice drops lower, colder.“You’re here to watch.To see how far I’ll go.How deep I’ll burn.”I brush my fingertip over the center of his chest.“You’re waiting for permission, waiting to see if I’ll let you touch the flames.”
His control frays.I see it in the pulse jumping in his throat, in the way his hands clench at his sides.He’s not backing away.He’s leaning in, drawn to the inferno he claims to fear.
“Is that what you want?”I ask, tilting my head.“To burn with me?”
His answer is in the ragged pull of his breath, in the heat pouring off him.His gaze drops to my mouth.
The test is set.
I close the final inch.
I crash my mouth against his, a demand that’s brutal, hungry, fueled by the tension humming between us.He groans low in his throat, a sound of surrender and need.His hands grip my hips, hauling me tighter against him.
The kiss deepens, turning savage.Our teeth clash.Our tongues duel.It’s less intimacy than combat, a struggle for dominance waged with lips and breath and bruising force.
I break the kiss first, pulling back just enough to see the dazed hunger in his eyes.His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the gold flecks.His lips are swollen, damp from mine.I trace the lower one with my thumb.
“Outside,” I command, my voice husky with intent.
My shadow daddy is behaving himself, a gathering darkness in the hallway that’s always watching, but outside is my and the detective’s spot.The place I can prove to him how dark he can go.
And I know he craves that darkness because he’s the one leading me through the front door.The rough wood of the railing bites into my lower back as he pushes me against it.His body cages me in, his heat emanating from underneath his clothes.
“Don’t worry,” he growls.“I sent the private investigator home.”
I laugh.“Like I care.”
His mouth finds mine again, desperate now.His hands are everywhere, tangling in my hair, skimming down my sides, gripping my ass to grind me against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his jeans.
The friction is electric, a jolt straight to my core.I arch into him, a silent demand.
He gets the message.His fingers reach for the button of my work pants.The zipper rasps down, and cold night air hits my skin.His hand slides beneath the thin fabric of my panties, finding me wet and needy.He groans again, the sound raw, and his fingers stroke, circle, press deep, everything I need him to do and do well.
