There was only one way to handle the situation, and to handle her tantrum. One way to remind her that even in her rage, even in her pain, she was still mine.
With a low growl of warning, I picked her up in one fluid motion.
She gasped—whether in shock or fury, I didn't care. Her fists immediately pounded against my chest. I let her. Each blow was nothing compared to what I deserved. I marched out of the back door and upstairs to her apartment.
My grip on her was iron. Possessive. Unbreakable.
She was still screaming. Still fighting.
Good.
Let her rage. Let her hate me. I'd take it all and then show her exactly what happened when she forgot who owned her—bomb or no bomb, hit or no hit.
Every step up those stairs was measured. Deliberate. A predator carrying his prey to his den.
And when I kicked open her apartment door, the lock splintering from the frame, she finally went still.
The silence was almost worse than her screaming.
Almost.
CHAPTER 27
DARIUS
Ikicked the apartment door shut behind us. The broken lock didn’t matter. No one was getting in here.
Anna was still thrashing against my grasp, her fists pounding uselessly. Each impact sent a jolt of something dark and hungry through me, but I shoved it down. Not yet.
I set her on her feet in the middle of the living room. She immediately lunged for the fire escape window.
I caught her wrist before she’d taken two steps, spinning her back around to face me.
"Don't." The word came out low. Dangerous.
She yanked against my grip, her gray eyes wild. "Let me go."
"Sit down."
"Fuck you."
My jaw clenched. "Anna. Sit. Down."
She glared at me with such venom I almost smiled. Almost. But then I saw it again—the scratch on her cheek, the swelling beneath her eye.
And the fresh scratches on her neck from where she'd clawed at the necklace.
The necklace I'd put on her like a collar.
Something hot and vicious coiled in my chest. Fury at myself. And underneath it all, something worse—something that felt dangerously like fear when I'd first heard she'd been hurt.
I couldn't afford fear. Fear was chaos. Fear was loss of control.
"You're bleeding," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.
"I don't care."
"Well, I do." The words were out before I could stop them, and I saw her eyes widen slightly. Good. Let her be confused. Let her wonder. As long as she stopped trying to claw that fucking necklace off her throat.
