Dalton coughs, adjusting his collar like he hasn’t pissed himself. Alistair doesn’t speak, but his eyes stay sharp.
They don’t trust me.
I don’t trust them.
And the truth is—none of us knows if this was meant for me…or one of them. A backdoor deal gone sideways. A mark unpaid. A favor denied. Everyone here’s made enemies.
I don’t wait for their response. I shove the door open and slam it shut behind me. The echo ricocheting down the narrow hallway.
The gum in my mouth grinds between my teeth, sharp mint slicing through the haze in my head. I spit it into a nearby trash can with enough force to splatter against the metal.
Before I know it, I’m stalking toward the medical room. I swing the door open, the silence inside broken only by the soft cadence of her breathing.
She’s laid out on the stainless-steel table, jeans gone, a strip of white gauze slapped across her thigh. A nurse patched her up a while ago. Her tank top’s ridden up her stomach, exposing her tight, toned body. Her head’s tilted to the side, dark brown hair spilling across her face.
My gaze drags lower, to the black scrap of underwear riding her hips, barely covering anything.
I’m already hard.
My fingers brush against the edge of the gauze. I wonder if the wound will scar? Hope it does. I hover my thumb over the gauze. One flick. That’s all it would take.
I could split it open again. Rewatch her bleed and scream. I press—not hard. Just enough to feel the tension in her body change. Even asleep, she knows something isn’t right.
Sliding my hand beneath her tank top, I push it higher, inch by inch, exposing her tits to the cold air. My palm settles over one, it’s full and warm. Her nipple tightens against my skin. She shifts, a faint noise escaping her lips.
My other hand curls around my Glock.
Sliding the muzzle across her ribs, then up slowly until the barrel rests against her temple. She jerks awake, breath hitching. Her eyes open wide, confusion flaring into panic, and then?—
That fucking glare.
Baring my teeth in a grin, I press the gun harder against her skull. “Rise and fucking shine, kitten.”
I drag the barrel down the side of her face, over her cheekbone, then lower, trailing it across her throat until it rests in the valley between her breasts.
“I could kill you right now. Wouldn’t even be hard. One twitch.” I lean closer, inhaling the scent of blood, sweat, and the goddamn chaos clinging to her skin.
She smells like violence.
Like something I want to break. Something Ishouldbreak.
“You should’ve bled out on the street,” I murmur against her throat. “But instead, I dragged your pathetic body here and had you stitched up.”
My hand slides back down her body, gripping her thigh hard enough to bruise. “You know what that makes you?” I tighten my grip.
“My fucking property.”
Her lips part like she might speak.
“Don’t fucking move.” I press the gun harder against her throat.
“Stop fuck?—”
Jesus, her fucking mouth. The words barely leave her lips before I’m moving. I straddle her, my weight pinning her inplace. Reaching for the zip ties on a nearby tray, I hold her legs down and secure her thrashing ankles
“I said, don’t. Fucking. Move.” I punctuate each word with a vicious twist of the plastic against her ankles.
She bucks beneath me, but it’s useless. I sit back on my heels, taking in the sight of her. Her wrists and ankles now bound, she’s spread out before me like a goddamn sacrifice. I should be focused on a million other things, but all I can think about is how fucking beautiful she looks like this. I want her to feel every inch of power she doesn’t have. To know she’s at the mercy of a man who doesn’t have any.
