Maneuvering me over to a metal table, he shoves me down onto its edge, the chill from the surface seeping through the silk of my dress. I tilt my head, eyes fixed on his, determined to swallow down the panic pressing at the edges.
I glance around, assessing my surroundings. The room is cold, sterile, and smells faintly of stale coffee. No obvious exits apart from the door he pulled me through and now stands in front of.
Fuck.
“You want to tell me who sent you?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of frustration.
I meet his eyes but stay silent, my resolve hardening under his scrutiny. He waits expectantly for several long minutes, probably thinking that’s all it’ll take for me to crack, but I won’t.
I’ll take the fall if I have to.
And I won’t drag anyone else down with me.
Hill’s jaw tenses as he slowly realizes I won’t start blabbing. He steps into my space, looming over me, his gaze menacing. “I’m not playing games here. You’re going to tell me who you’re working for.”
I remain silent, keeping my eyes forward, trying to steady my breathing.
“All right. You want to do this the hard way?” The calm veneer starts to crack as he comes even closer. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? That you can walk in here and play games with me?”
Again, I say nothing. My heart pounds, but I refuse to give him anything.
He slams his hand down on the table beside me, the sharp crack making my pulse spike, but I don’t even flinch.
“You’re not scared? You should be.” His tone is cold now, full of warning. “This isn’t a game.Whogave you the card?”
When I still don’t say anything, he lets out a harsh breath and runs a hand through his dark hair before pacing the small space as if trying to rein in his temper.
He’s not a good detective if he’s letting this make him go off the rails. It’s almost as if he’s taking me targeting him personally.
Maybe he is.
How the fuck would I know? The bastards didn’t even tell me he was a cop.
His shoes squeak against the tile as he turns abruptly, eyes blazing as he strides over to me. “You’re protecting someone.” His voice is louder now, the simmering anger bubbling to the surface. “Do you really think they’d do the same for you?”
Probably not.
To them, I’m simply a tool, one they’ve managed to bring some life back into.God, I’m pathetic.
I let out a small, bitter laugh at myself.
“You think this is funny?” he growls out. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.” He leans in so close I can see that his eyes aren’t black but dark brown. “You’re not walking out of here until I get answers. So you better start talking, or this is going to get a whole lot worse for you. I know what kind of girl you are. You won’t last a week in jail.”
Oh, fuck you.
I think about how he,Sergeant Sterile, would do in jail, and a small flame of defiance soothes my nerves and has a real smile, though small, breaking out on my face. I watch in real time as that tiny gesture snaps something inside him. Fury flashes in his eyes as the back of his hand swings hard across my face, the sting radiating through my cheek, my head snapping to the side from the force. My skin burns where he struck, and I’m left panting, tasting the metallic bite of adrenaline.
Oh, you want to play?
Then let’s fucking play.
If I’m not getting out of this, I’ll make sure to give as good as I get. Slowly, I turn back to face him, a cold, amused smile curlingmy lips. “Does hitting women make you hard, Detective?” I ask, my words dripping with bitter mockery as I glance down at his crotch. “Got alittleGod complex, huh?”
When my gaze travels back up to his, his eyes have narrowed even more, but there is no flicker of attraction, no shift in his expression, no sign that the power got him off.
Strange.
Even when they hate me,especiallywhen they hate me, men still want to feel as though they have power over me. Half of them want me. The other half hate that they do. This guy? Nothing. Not even a hint.
