“No. He doesn’t deserve to continue breathing.” My voice hardens. “But you could... participate.”
The word hangs between us. A flush spreads across her cheeks.
She steps back to the cabinet, examining a particularly elegant scalpel with an ebony handle. Her fingers hover over it reverently.
“I’ve dreamed about him suffering.” The confession spills from her lips, surprising us both. “Actual dreamswhere I...” She picks up the scalpel, testing its weight. “Is that terrible?”
“It’s honest.”
She studies the blade, turning it to catch the light. “I always thought I was a good person.”
“You are.” I move closer. “Good people recognize injustice most clearly.”
Amelia’s reflection stares back at her, the scalpel glinting in her hand. Her eyes widen with the weight of her own revelation—not horror at my suggestion, but recognition of the darkness she’s always carried.
Amelia’s fingers tighten around the scalpel. “I want him to pay for what he did. To me. To those other women.” Her voice grows stronger with each word. “I want to watch him realize who’s taking everything from him.”
My breath catches. The cold, calculated part of me—the part that meticulously plans each kill—falters at the sight of her transformation. Her eyes darken to midnight pools, her jaw set with newfound purpose. The morning light streaming through the windows catches the blade in her hand, casting dangerous reflections across her face.
“I want to make him suffer, Gabe.”
Blood rushes to my cock so fast I feel dizzy with it. All these years of hunting, and only Adrian has ever understood. I never believed a woman like her could ever witness my darkness and see beauty instead of monstrosity. Until her.
“Say it again,” I growl, stepping closer.
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retreat. Instead, she lifts her chin, eyes locked with mine. “I want to make Gregory Walsh pay for every woman he’s hurt.” She presses the flat of the blade against my chest. “I want to help you takehim apart.”
Something snaps inside me. I knock the scalpel from her hand, hearing it clatter against the hardwood as I grab her face between my palms. My mouth crashes down on hers, no gentleness, no restraint. Just raw, animal hunger.
Amelia responds instantly, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste floods my mouth as I back her against the cabinet, rattling the surgical tools inside. My hands tangle in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. I bite the tender flesh beneath her jaw, marking her.
She claws at my shoulders, moaning into my open mouth as I press my hardness against her stomach. The savage impulse to claim her completely overwhelms everything else.
I slam Amelia against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. My other hand tears the T-shirt up her body, exposing her completely. Her pupils are blown wide with lust as I crush my mouth against hers, tasting blood where I’ve already split her lip.
She wraps her legs around my waist as I drive into her without preamble, her wetness taking me to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The cabinet rattles beside us with each impact of our bodies.
“Tell me how we’ll do it,” she pants against my mouth, nails digging crescents into my shoulders. “How will we kill Walsh?”
My cock pulses inside her at the question. I bite down on her neck, feeling her clench around me.
“I’ll bring him to the room beneath the club,” I growl, thrusting harder. “Tie him to the table where his precious artists posed for him.”
Amelia’s head falls back, a moan tearing from her throat. “Yes. Make him see me. Make him know it’s me.”
I spin her around, bending her over the kitchen table. She spreads her legs wider, offering herself completely as I drive back into her.
“I’ll cut his clothes away piece by piece.” My palm cracks across her ass, leaving a perfect red handprint. “For every artist he destroyed—a cut for each one.”
Her body trembles beneath mine. “Deeper. Harder.”
I comply, pulling her hair back so sharply that tears spring to her eyes. “You want his blood, don’t you? Want to watch it flow while he begs?”
“God, yes,” she whimpers, pushing back against me frantically.
I reach for the knife block on the counter and pull out a small blade. I hold it where she can see it, pressing the flat edge against her breast.
“You want me to make you bloody, too? Mark you like he’ll be marked?”
