My hand moves of its own accord, threading into her dark hair and tilting her head back. She gasps, and I feel it everywhere. In my chest. In my cock. In the empty place where my soul used to be.
This is not supposed to happen. I chose this assignment specifically because it was straightforward. Retrieve the girl, use her as leverage, eliminate the father when he surfaces. Clean. Simple. The kind of work I excel atbecauseI feel nothing.
But I'm feeling now.
I'm feeling so much it's like being burned alive from the inside.
"I'm going to keep you," I tell her, and it's not part of the plan. It's not tactical. It's pure want, raw and undeniable. "Whatever happens with your father, whatever deals get made, you belong to me now. Do you understand?"
I expect her to spit in my face, or at least have the survival instinct to lie.
Instead, she just stares up at me with those huge ink-blue eyes and whispers, "Why?"
Because I'm the Devil, and you look like salvation.
I don’t respond. Instead, I release her and step back, picking up her duffel. "Time's up. We're leaving."
She doesn't argue as she follows me back into the living room where the two feds are still groaning on the floor. The one with the shoulder wound is trying to reach his phone. I kick it across the room.
"Tell your people the Bratva has her," I say. "Tell them if they come looking, I'll send her back in pieces."
I won't. Even the thought makes something violent tear in my gut. But they don't know that.
Ava makes a small, wounded sound behind me.
"I won't hurt you," I say without looking at her. "Not unless you make me."
It's the closest thing to a promise I can offer. And it's more than I've given anyone in fifteen years.
I take her hand, her small, cold hand that fits in mine like it was made for it, and lead her out of the apartment. She doesn't pull away. Doesn't resist.
"If you try to run," I tell her conversationally as we descend the stairs, "I will catch you. And when I do, I'll tie you up and put you in the trunk. I won't gag you because I want to hear you scream, but I will make sure you understand exactly who owns you now."
Her breathing hitches, but she squeezes my hand tighter.
Christ. She's not supposed to respond like this. She's supposed to be leverage. A means to an end.
Instead, she feels like the end itself.
My car is parked two blocks away, a black Mercedes with bulletproof glass and diplomatic plates. I scan the street, checking angles and sight lines, listening for sirens. Nothing yet, but they're coming.
I open the passenger door for her. She hesitates, looking back toward her building one last time.
"Last chance to fight me," I say quietly. "Once you get in this car, Ava, you're mine. No going back."
She looks up at me, and in the glow of the night, I can see tears tracking down her cheeks.
Then she gets in the car.
I close the door. Walk around to the driver's side. Start the engine.
My heart is pounding, and I don't remember the last time that happened. Maybe never. Maybe I've never had a heartbeat before this moment.
"Where are we going?" she asks, her voice small.
I pull out into traffic; I was supposed to head to the warehouse district. Only now I realize it won’t be secure enough. I need somewhere I can keep her safe while I figure out what the fuck I'm going to do about the fact that I was supposed to use her, destroy her, and instead I want to worship her.
"Somewhere no one will think to look for you," I say. "Somewhere you're mine." I turn towards the Strip.
