“The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.”
—Robert Frost
I’ve never actually heard a switchblade whipped open, but it turns out the sharp whisper of the movement pierces through a silent room with the magnitude of a gun being cocked. My breathing hitches as I glance toward the sound. Toward Adam.
He’s distanced himself from me, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily flicking the weapon open and closed. His movements are so fluid, so casual, it’s like the knife is more than a tool. It’s part of him, an extension of his limbs. My spine tingles as I watch him. His expression is thoughtful, broad shoulders relaxed.
The silver blade draws my focus. It’s longer than I expected. Sharpened to perfection. Deadly.
My stomach knots as my eyes—still drooping as though my lashes are made of bricks—flick to him. I swallow through my dry throat. “What’s that for?”
One eyebrow quirks, then his gaze falls to the knife as though noticing it for the first time. Ignoring me, he drops his arm and nods toward Griff, whose hands unfreeze before he proceeds to grope me. He cups one breast with his left hand and chokes me with his right. I sputter, my mouth gaping as I struggle to swallow air.
Jesus.There’s nothing sensual about Griff’s movements. He’s a freaking machine, inhuman and mechanical.
The hand on my breast slips downward until he’s cupping me between my thighs instead. He lifts me off the ground and grinds his erection against my ass.
My face reddens as I grasp onto the slivers of air I manage to gulp down between squeezes. I stare at Adam in bewilderment, though I only have myself to blame. I don’t know what I expected from him.
Adam examines every inch of me. He folds his arms over his chest, rubs the side of his jaw with his thumb, tilts his head. “Who are you, Emmy Highland?”
Griff’s hold on my neck loosens just enough for me to answer. Once the thumping in my chest evens out, I bring my wide eyes to Adam. “Wh-what do you mean? You know who I am.” I blink to clear my doubling vision. “You just said it—Emmy Highland.”
Griff’s fingers wander from between my thighs to my ass. He pulls my panties to the side once more, his breathing turning into loud, heavy pants against my shoulder.
I close my eyes for only a second, swallowing thickly.
Adam shakes his head. “Who are you?”
When Griff jabs the tip of one dry finger between my cheeks, I bite my tongue hard enough to taste metal. Pain slices through me as he shoves in a little farther, and my eyes water.
A deep craving to hurt the son of a bitch climbs up my throat. Even in this drugged state I want to whirl around and dig my sharp fingernails into his balls.
Instead, I remind myself why I’m here and grit out my answer. “Twenty years old. Just a girl.” I pause, concentrating on stringing my words together so I’ll stop slurring. “A waitress. A nobody—”
“You’re wasting your breath.” Adam’s dark eyes sharpen on me as he works his jaw. “There’s nothing more dishonest than words.”
With a heavy grunt, Griff licks the back of my ear as he wiggles his finger in deeper. My legs snap shut, and a sweat breaks out on my forehead. The only thing getting me through the burning pain is envisioning all the ways I want to hurt him, scratch him, claw him, until red clouds my vision. And Adam’s pointless, insistent question as he watches it all happen only makes my anger blaze hotter.
“Wh-what do you want from m-me?” I barely manage, keeping my eyes locked on his.
He takes a step forward. Then another. His hair skims my forehead when he leans in and gently says, “What do I want?” His fingers slowly brush the curve of my neck. “I want you toshowme. Show me who you are, little mouse.”
Without warning, Griff plunges his finger farther into me, then pulls out in one movement. Suppressing a shudder, I don’t look back when the asshole grips either side of my shoulders, his blunt nails pressing into my collarbones.
His possessive hold sinks into my pores, and something small inside me withers away.
In this moment, he owns me.
They all do.
Thecrackof my last thread of control snapping in half is a thousand times worse than any physical damage Griff can do to me in this room. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, swirling so fast I’m spinning with them, and I may as well be hanging off the roof of one of New York’s finest skyscrapers by my pinky.
My sister’s wide, brown eyes float into my mind. Her contagious smile. Loud laughter that turns heads. Floral shampoo reminiscent of wild gardens in the spring. A dull ache burrows its way into my racing chest.
As I watch Adam, I know what I have to do. There’s one way toshowhim and his brothers I want this. It’s either him or Griff, and there’s no way I’m about to do this with the latter.
