Good.
She should be.
When something that belongs to me is taken, I would burn the world down to get it back, with everyone in it. I’ve killed for less. I’ll kill more for just as little.
Dr. Emily Beckett is mine. And if anyone is going to kill her, it will be me. Not my psycho brother, who thinks he can save himself by eating the lungs of girls with his blood type.
If a single hair is missing from her head, I will burn him piece by piece until there’s nothing left but ruined flesh.
Trying to frame me and take her was the worst mistake he ever made.
And he is going to learn that very soon.
SIXTEEN
Emily
My eyes snap open. A shiver rolls down my thighs, heat pooling between them. Wetness pulses from my body. For a second, I think I am dreaming. Then I try to move.
A laugh answers me.
My wrists burn as I realize my arms are stretched above my head. Chains bite into my skin, pulling me up toward the ceiling. I hang there, suspended. The room around me glows white and empty.
Beneath me, two women kneel. They are trapped here with me, locked in the same cell. But their mouths are already on me.
Tongues trace the inside of my thighs. Fingers find me, pressing against my clit, then slipping inside me, thrusting and out. My body jerks despite me. I can only manage weak movements, legs flinching back and forth as the chains rattle softly above.
“No,” I shout. My voice cracks. “Get away from me.”
They don’t stop.
I glance over and notice him.
He sits in a red chair, as if he owns the room, his body relaxed, one hand wrapped around his cock as another leans on the chair. His eyes never leave mine as he touches himself slowly.
Zeke.
The twin brother of the man I am falling for.
His face is clean-shaven now, hair falling into his eyes. When he looks at me, the expression is the same one I have seen before.
The same eyes. The same mouth.
They are identical.
“Emily,” he murmurs. His voice crawls over my skin. “Watching you come in the mouths of the girls I will eat is turning me on.”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard, forcing air into my lungs.
“No,” I whisper, the word barely forming. I try to move again.
One of the women spreads my legs wider. The other steps closer, her mouth closing around my clit. She licks slowly in circular motions, then sucks it with her soft, full lips.
My body betrays me. Heat builds, and wetness spreads. I hate the way my muscles tense, the way my breath stutters.
Her hands hold me open. A tongue drags from my clit down, then back up again, pressing deeper, curling, thrusting. I drip onto her face. I can’t stop it.
“That’s it,” Zeke says. “Give them the food they deserve.”
