He takes a step forward, and I bolt inside, the roar of the crowd hits like a sledgehammer. Bodies jostle. Smoke coils. Blood spills across the fight pit. Moving straight to the bar.
Drinking won’t help; I need to plan my getaway.
But fuck. I need the burn.
I needanythingto drown whatever the hell just happened…and the fear threatening to choke me.
Raze shoves his way through the crowd, already barking bets and fighting for a better view of the pit. Alistair lingers near the wall, sticking out like a sore thumb in his overpriced suit, arms crossed, clearly regretting tagging along. Dalton’s not far behind, scowling.
I came to bleed out the poison still riding my veins.
Dinner with the Senator had me ready to carve out someone’s throat with a broken wine glass. The tuxes. The smug smiles. Sterling’s fucking voice in my ear.Behave. Play nice.
Sure as fuck didn’t expect to find the stupid little bitch here.
Something about her grates down to the bone. That mouth. That wild fucking look in her eyes. I can’t shake her.
I tell myself it’s because she’s a virgin—that I just want to ruin something untouched. Split it open. Make it bleed.
But that’s bullshit.
I should’ve ended her the night I fucked her throat. Should’ve left her cold at the Safehouse. Should’ve put a bullet in her skull after she stole my truck. Painted the walls with her blood andwalked away. Instead, I let her live. Let her breathe. Let her spit in my face and keep her fucking teeth.
Now look at me?—
Hard as steel, imagining her on her knees again, my fist in her hair, her body twitching while I fuck the air out of her lungs.
Or maybe she’s a fucking corpse.
Her blood’s still warm on the floor while I finish inside what’s left of her.
My jaw ticks as I pop a stick of gum, chewing slow, letting the bitterness burn the back of my throat.
It doesn’t work. She’s still fucking there.
I wasn’t built for this kind of frustration.
Sterling made me for war. Every bone in my body was carved for blood. I’m not meant to be still. Not meant to sit and think. I’m meant to kill.
And she makes me think too much. The scars on my back itch, the old phantom burn of memories.
She’s at the bar, knocking back vodka like medicine. Her shoulders are tense, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, wondering if she can make it out before I notice.
Too fucking late for that.
“You do realize the shit-storm you caused with Senator Kelly,” Alistair mutters, leaning against the concrete wall next to me.
“Fuck that prick.”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Sovereign can’t afford to lose his support right now. Not with everything hanging on the edge?—”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Iknowyou don’t.” His eyes lock on mine like he’s forgotten who the fuck he’s talking to. “Which is why I’m surprised you said anything about leading at all. You’re not built for it, Priest. You’re unstable. You think the Council’s going to hand youpower when you’re out here shitting on our strongest allies like you’re already wearing the crown?”
The Council. Those ancient fucks that every Sovereign Section answers to, sitting on their ivory thrones while men like me drown in blood to keep their empire intact. High Chancellors play their roles, but the Council? They’re the real string-pullers. And I’ve fantasized about slitting every last one of their throats.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Alistair. Don’t forget you’re still breathing because I allow it.”
