“A? Maxim’s fight is about to start. You’re gonna miss it—” Roxy’s voice slurs through the night.
Our heads snap toward the door.
The heavy stench of booze and sweat wafts out behind her, mingling with the smoke curling from inside. Her gaze jumps from me to Priest, confusion clouding her features.
She slurs in Russian, asking if this is a new friend.
The wordfriendnearly makes me laugh. Or scream.
Priest’s hand doesn’t leave my face—but his other drops to the gun at his waistband, fingers curling around the grip, the metal half-exposed.
He’s going to shoot her.
“Roxy, go back inside,” I snap in Russian. She flinches, uncertainty flashing in her eyes, but she nods and stumbles back, the door slamming shut behind her.
He doesn’t draw, but his hand lingers on the weapon, like he’s disappointed.
“I don’t like interruptions,” he mutters. “Almost made a mess.”
His grip shifts, dragging my attention back to him as he yanks my face up, his fingers digging deep into my jaw again.
“Stupid kitten’s Russian. Didn’t see that coming,” he sneers.
I jerk my face away, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. His thumb brushes across my bottom lip.
I feel it again. The betrayal of my own body. The heat, the pulse, the fucking shiver that crawls down my spine.
I hate him. I hate me more.
“Let. Me. Go.”
He leans in. “I like how you fight. But you don’t get it yet. I’m toying with you. You’re my prey. And I’m fucking starving.”
Then, just like that, he steps back. Releasing me.
The sudden loss of contact is disorienting. I sway for half a second, humiliated by the fact that I even register the space between us.
He smirks, his eyes crawling over me. “Tell me, filthy virgin. How many times did you touch yourself thinking about choking on my cock?”
“Go to hell.” My face burns—rage, shame, something I won’t name.
I spin on my heel and storm toward the warehouse door, desperate to get away from him, from this twisted, fucked-up encounter.
“Forget something?” he calls after me. “Your knife, maybe?”
I keep walking.
Thud.
The sound is sharp—a blade punching into wood just inches from my head.
A hot sting tears through my upper arm. I scream before I can stop it. A slice carved into my shoulder. Blood blooms through the fabric.
His grin is pure malice.
“Christ. That was even better than I imagined.” He licks his teeth. “Meant to stick you deeper, but fuck—you’ve got a scream on you, kitten.I’m hard just thinking about slicing you open to hear it again.”
My stomach twists. My hand goes to the wound, pressing hard as blood slips through my fingers.
