And saw me.
She screamed. Short, sharp, instinctive. Wine glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
But then—and this the part that confirmed just how crazy this broad was—her whole face changed. The fear melted away, replaced by something else. Something hungry.
“Prime.” She pressed a hand to her chest, breathing hard, but she was smiling now. “Oh my God. You scared me half to death.” She stepped over the broken glass, moving toward me. “But I knew it. I KNEW you couldn’t resist forever. All those months pretending you wasn’t interested. Playing hard to get. But here you are. In my apartment. Waiting for me in the dark like?—”
“Farah.”
“—some kind of romantic movie scene. God, this is so hot. I’ve literally fantasized about this exact scenario. You breaking into my place. Taking this pussy anyway you want. Being all dominant and?—”
“Farah.”
“—mysterious. Should I pour you some wine? Or you wanna skip straight to the bedroom? I been saving this lingerie set for a special occasion and I think this definitely qualifies?—”
I stood up.
She finally shut up.
I walked toward her. Slow. Deliberate. Watched her eyes go wide with anticipation. Desire. The absolute certainty that her delusions was finally ’bout to become reality.
“I knew it,” she whispered as I got closer. “I knew you wanted me. I could see it every time you looked at me. That hunger. That need. You was just fighting it ’cause of HER. But she ain’t here now, is she? It’s just us. Just?—”
I moved fast.
One arm around her throat. Other hand controlling her flailing arms. Squeezed just enough to cut off blood flow toher brain—not the airway, never the airway, while she thrashed against me.
“Wha—” She tried to speak. Tried to scream. But the pressure on her carotid was already doing its job. Movements got weaker. Slower. Eyes rolled back.
Ten seconds later, she went limp.
I lowered her to the floor and got to work.
Zip ties on the wrists. Zip ties on the ankles. Duct tape over the mouth just in case she woke up during transport. Then the needle—sedative I got through channels that don’t ask questions—slid into the vein at her elbow.
Sleeper hold would only keep her out for a few minutes. The sedative would buy me a few hours.
Scooped her up, carried her to the service elevator, took her down to the parking garage. Bentayga was waiting, trunk already lined with plastic. I’d gotten rid of Zoo’s body a while ago.
Placed her inside. Closed the trunk. Drove off.
The warehouse wasone of several spots I owned through shell companies. Off the grid. No neighbors. No cameras. The kind of place where you could scream all day and ain’t nobody hearing shit.
Not that I planned on making her scream. That wasn’t the point.
Point was leverage.
I’d set up a chair in the middle of the main floor. Industrial. Metal. Bolted to the concrete. The kind of chair that said “this ain’t a negotiation.”
Farah was still knocked out when I carried her inside and strapped her down. More zip ties. Rope for good measure. I wanted her uncomfortable, not damaged. Damaged goods wasn’t gon’ get me what I needed.
Pulled up a chair across from her. Sat down. Waited.
She came to slow.
First, the groaning. Then her head moving, trying to shake off the fog. Then her eyes, blinking open, struggling to focus in the dim light.
When her vision finally cleared—when she saw me sitting across from her, stone-faced, arms crossed—I expected fear.
