I know she knows she’s mine.
“They’ll come for me.”
“They won’t.”
“And if they do?”
“Anyone who gets near you will pay the fucking price. Their blood will be on your hands. Don’t you already have enough staining them?”
She flicks her eyes away from mine, gazing down at her hands that wring in her lap.
It gives me time to get into the cupboard near the door and snag the monitor I intended to put on her first thing.
She’s too distracting for her own good.
Getting it out and opening it, I stride over and drop to one knee before her. “Lift your foot onto my leg. Either one will do.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I fucking told you to,” I snarl.
She stiffens, seeming to remember she’s supposed to be behaving before lifting her foot onto my upper thigh.
Bear growls from the other room, and the sounds of him biting the crate have me grinning.
He likes me just fine and will listen, but only because he senses I’m his better, his alpha, as it were.
Helovesher. Their bond is different.
I don’t doubt for a moment that I could land on the wrong side of Bear, chewed to bits, if I’m not careful.
She watches me place an ankle monitor on, and I turn it away from her as I enter a code into it to lock it. “This is a safety measure I’m sure I won’t need to use since you’ll be a good girl and stay put. Call it an insurance policy.”
“And when I don’t show up to work on Monday?”
“You resigned, effective immediately, last night. Don’t you remember?”
Tears of rage fall down her cheeks, and I hope she breeds life into that anger. Fucking her while she tries to tear the flesh from my bones is an outcome I hope happens sooner rather than later.
“You can’t just keep me here,” she says, sniffling as she yanks her foot back to the floor and stands.
I look up at her, remaining on my knees before her with a sick grin on my face. “I can do whatever I want to.”
“You’re going to get caught. Your luck will run out, and I hope I’m alive to see it.” The vitriol in her words has me reaching for her.
Wrapping my hand around the back of her thigh, I relish in the gasp of fear she gives me at my touch. I pull her closer, leaning closer to press my face at the junction between her thighs.
Even through the fabric of her sleep shorts and her panties, I can smell her. Her musky scent is the stuff drugs are made of. It’s the thing I can’t get out of my head, even while my skin is covered in someone else’s blood; her scent is my driving factor.
“Are you wet?” I ask her.
“What?!” she shrieks, trying to push me away, but I tighten my hold on the back of her thigh.
I skirt a hand up her leg, the tips of my fingers peeking out from my black, fingerless gloves, rippling over goosebumps that rise to meet them. “Are. You. Wet.”
She fights to get away from me, but I hold her as firmly as possible.
The chair behind her rolls away, and she topples backward.
