I turn to run back to the house. Back to safety.
But before I can take three steps, an arm hooks around my waist.
Leather presses against my mouth and I bite down hard, tasting blood.
The man grunts something in Russian.
My instincts flare—I drive my elbow into his ribs and kick backward into his shin. A second of freedom, fleeting but fierce. My nails rake his skin, leaving angry, red streaks.
The wiry one is already on me when I take my next breath. His hand locks around my arm, steel biting cold against my skin. A needle slides under it, and my body stiffens instantly. Limbs heavy. Power slipping.
“No—” I gasp, a sound ripped from my chest.
The burn spreads fast. My muscles refuse to obey. My legs buckle.
Hank is still fighting. Teeth locked on the man’s arm. Blood spills across stone. He yelps again, desperate, furious, unrelenting, he thinks sheer will can hold them off.
My head lolls. Vision narrows. Chest tightens, every breath shallow. I hear Hank yelp once more—high and cut off too quickly.
Then darkness takes me.
Chapter 20
Elijah
It’s been two hours.
Ace hasn’t come out, and I’m still pacing the foyer, waiting for something to snap.
Hank won’t stop barking. Not the playful kind either. Probably pissed he’s missing out on his run.
I try to ignore it.
She said what she needed to say. Told me to fuck off, I meant nothing. And maybe I do. Maybe that’s all I’ve ever meant—a guard, a body, someone to carry her guilt when it’s convenient.
Still.
The way she looked at me…
Last night was a mistake. Not the girl. That was intentional. But the kitchen, the timing… letting Ace see it—that’s on me. She looked at me like I was trash.
But what was I supposed to do?
She gets under my skin. Always has. It’s either fuck or kill something. Enzo told me it would help. Get the edge off. He obviously doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.
I haven’t slept. I haven’t stopped seeing her standing in that damn tank top, eyes wet, chest rising in a way that made me think she was about to break.
I wanted to grab her and drag her back into bed.
Not to punish.
Not to comfort.
Just to remind her who I am.
Hank barks again.
“Not now,” I mutter.
