Beau freezes, needle poised. His eyes narrow. “Did you fuck her?”
“With my fingers. With my mouth.” I meet his gaze, unblinking. “With my knife.”
He huffs a laugh and finishes the last stitch as if closing a war wound. “You sick fuck.”
“Says the man who keeps a locked chest in his roomno one’s allowed to touch.”
“Done.” He ties the knot tight, the thread biting into my skin. “Try not to rip them open.”
No promises.
I head to my room, muscles coiled tight, skin burning. The door clicks shut behind me, and I strip, shirt, cargos, all of it. Bloodied clothes hit the floor in a damp splatter. I’ll burn them later.
The shower hisses to life, steam filling the small space. I step in, let the hot water slam into my back hard enough to sting. It doesn’t do shit, my cock’s already hard, thick, and aching.
All I can see is her, the way her legs trembled, the sound of her gasp when my tongue fucked her hole. My blood streaking her skin crimson while she came apart under my tongue.
The taste is still in my mouth. I’d carve myself open again just to have it back.
I wrap my fist around my cock, one stroke and it’s her voice in my head, whispering curses as I made her cum. My forehead hits the tile, the rhythm building, faster, tighter. My abs clench, thighs lock, precum slicking my grip.
Her scent. Her heat. The memory of her cunt wrapped around the hilt of my knife, fuck.
My voice breaks on her name.
“Tamsin.”
The orgasm rips through me, brutal, my cum striping the tile as the water washes over. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I’m smiling before it’s even gone.
I can’t wait for her next kill.
She’s following Sterling Breck. CEO. Philanthropist, local sweetheart.
Fucking predator in sheep clothes.
He’s not the real danger, not physically. That honor goes to his chief of security, Bram Locked.
We know him, he’s former special forces and one of the men who trained us before he decided the highest bidder’s dollar was worth more than a conscience. Now he works for a man who gets off on shoving panties into women’s mouths and cutting their air until they pass out, so he can fuck them limp.
Sterling is shit but Bram’s more dangerous.
I sit on my bike, full black gear, helmet locked, visor down, the world reduced to a dark slit of glass. My breathing echoes inside it, steady, controlled, even though every muscle in me is drawn tight.
She’s smart, wearing a new wig, different style ofclothes—she looks softer, smaller. Sweet enough to pass for Sterling’s favorite kind of prey.
I hate it.
At exactly 10:32, she strolls to the sleek chrome coffee trailer parked out front of Sterling’s building. He’s already there.
She smiles at him, leans in, brushes his sleeve.
I see red. Not a flash, a thick, slow bleed that floods my vision because she's smiling at someone who isn't me.
She should never smile at anyone but me.
“Stalking much?” Beau’s voice crackles in my ear.
“I told you I’d turn the mics on if you shut the fuck up,” I growl, my hands tightening around the handlebars until the leather creaks.
