That means Mirabelle is here.
The ants beneath my skin turn into buzzing wasps at thethought of her. Ineedto see her, now that I know she’s just beyond the door.
“Are you really gonna question me?” Rowan says, his voice significantly more menacing than I ever would’ve expected.
“Nah, nah,” one of the transporters mutters. “Let ‘em in.”
The door creaks open and Rowan and Mirabelle appear in the doorway.
My lips peel back into a snarl when I see the ashen expression on Mirabelle’s face and the way she’s clinging to a thin silk robe to keep it shut.
“Fucking hell,” Rowan sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. He looks exhausted. But I honestly don’t give a shit about him right now, not when Mirabelle is trembling in those ridiculous high heels.
“Hi,” Mirabelle says with a strained smile, when she notices the way I’m staring at her.
“Why are you clutching that robe shut?” My voice is deceptively even, considering how loaded the question is.
The robe cuts off at mid-thigh, showcasing the tops of thigh-high, sheer stockings. She’s a walking wet dream in those sky-high heels that make her legs look fantastic. And I hate that other men have seen her like this.
It makes me want to gouge eyes out.
“Oh, well, Rowan didn’t know where the tie for it went. It’s older, belonged to Rowan’s mom,” she says, rubbing the rose patterning on the silk fabric. “The only thing we had in the trailer to try and keep it shut was one of Rowan’s belts and it looked weird.”
She talks a lot when she’s nervous. Normally, I find it cute. Maybe it’s because I’m a sadistic asshole who enjoys seeing her squirm a little bit. But I’m not the one making her squirm right now.
It’s written into every tense line of her body. In the sour notesof her scent that I can smell far too well in the close space between us.
“I can tell you’re barely wearing anything under that robe.” A dangerous growl leaves my chest as my gaze cuts to Rowan, who pales when he sees my expression.
The kid isn’t bold enough to pull a stunt like this.
Which means one thing: he was a pathetic piece of shit who couldn’t do anything to protect Mirabelle from his fucked-up family.
Mirabelle’s cheeks grow red from embarrassment as she shuffles her weight from side to side, her movements a little awkward because of the high heels. Like a baby deer.
Which is what every other man who sets his eyes on her will think.Prey.
It’s wrong. But onlyIget to think of her that way.
“Come here, Shortcake.”
She follows my command instantly, like she does every time. It soothes the part of my brain that’s telling me to rage against the bars of this cage. Barely.
“Are you wearing anything underneath that tiny robe?” I growl.
“Y—yes,” she says. I can see her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck, right along with the way she swallows hard at my words.
“Show me.”
I’m a stupid, selfish mother fucker. Because even though I knew she wasn’t wearing much, seeing it was another matter entirely.
She drops open the robe, revealing a red lace body suit. The only thing hiding her pussy from my gaze are strategically placed embroidered flower appliques. Her nipples aren’t given the same courtesy.
I can see the faint outline of them pebbled up against the sheer fabric. There are embroidered lace flowers cupping and lifting the underside of her tits, showcasing her cleavage.
It’s driving me crazy.
I reach out through the bars and tug her towards me so her front is pressed up into the cold metal.
