“Do you like dogs?” I ask. I have a German Shepherd waiting for me at HQ, though he’s currently hanging out with Greyson and Scarlett. I wouldn’t trust Grey to supervise an animal for shit, but I do trust Scar. She has a black cat—Lucifer—who she dotes on and adores.
She dunks a chicken nugget in sauce, brows furrowing. “I… don’t know,” she admits quietly, appearing momentarily confused. “Not from the recent experiences I’ve had with them.” Something dark passes over her face.
My chest tightens,again. If she hadn’t disappeared, the trajectories of both of our lives would be vastly different. I’d be a vet with a staggering inheritance that precluded me from ever needing to work; she’d be whatever she wanted to be. We’d probably already have a house and be well on our way to building a family, complete with a dog.
We’d both be fulfilling the dreams we had,beforelife fucked us in the ass, sans lube. Her loss and my parents death changed me, igniting a rage that made the thought of doing anything goodforthisworld, which tookeverythingfrom me, vaguely repulsive. So, I chose to kill instead.
I look forward to unraveling exactly what took Ember down the path that made her into thiswoman. That should start with some small talk.
“Do you like cuddling?” I question.
A hapless shrug.
“Affection?”
“Not particularly.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Why?”
“Because it always comes at a price.”
“Flame.” My tone is filled with a soul-aching sadness. “Real affection isneverconditional. Only the fake shit is.”
Her brows furrow. She looks confused, and suddenly so,soyoung.
“I wouldn’t know,” she admits quietly.
I want to scrap any planned punishment, pick her up in my arms, and spend the next three or so years holding her, proving that genuine affection isnotconditional, and reminding her that shedoeslove it. At least, she used to.
Fuck. My head, heart, and cock, are waging a battle with each other. My head tells me to treat her like the threat she is; my heart tells me to wrap her up in a blanket and recite the story of our childhood to her, hoping it jogs her memories; my cock cares about nothing but fucking her raw.
I go with my head.
“Eat up.” I jerk my chin at her picked-at food. “We have a long drive ahead of us, and I’m not in the mood for any pitstops.”
“How long a drive?”
I smile at her. “Already planning your next escape attempt? I wouldn’t bother, Flame.” We’ll be at headquarters by early morning. She’ll get her beauty sleep, foregoing whatevercrashshe referred to, and I won’t worry about her trying to rip my head off my shoulders.
When she wakes up, she’ll be safely tucked away in the Nighthawk’s compound. Far outside of Dagon’s reach. Then, I can figure out how to deal with Hurricane Ember and all the complications she’s about to bring to my doorstep.
Which are many.
I let her finish up her food in relative peace—if she doesn’t count me ogling her and drinking in the fact that she’s here, and until further notice, she’s mine.
Then, I walk over to her to rebind her wrists.
“Is that really necessary?” she grumbles.
“Yes,” I confirm, finishing up. I dip my hand into my pocket, curling my fingers around the syringe hidden there. “As is this.”
I pull out the syringe, take the cap off with my teeth, and sink it into her neck, hitting the plunger.
Ember scrambles away from me, gasping and frantically raising her bound hands to swat at her neck.
“What—” she gasps, blood draining from her face. “What was—”
“Just a little something to put you to sleep. You’ll wake up feeling good as new.”
