Two men explode into clarity. Neither masked. Neither familiar in the darkness still clinging to the edges of my vision. They’re locked together on the floor in a violent tangle, limbs grappling, muscles straining, a brutal blur of motion I can’t separate.
One is on top, driving the other down with terrifying force. His face is hidden, turned and shadowed, nothing but a smear of movement.
The man beneath him thrashes, fingers clawing at the hand crushing his throat. A strangled sound tears from his mouth.
The man on top tightens his grip. Then there’s a sharp, decisive twist. His body jerks once, a hard involuntary snap, and the life drains out of the man on the floor.
Completely still.
Horrifying.
The man above stays crouched over the body, shoulders heaving,head bowed, hand still locked around the dead man’s throat as if he’s not ready to let go.
I can’t tell which man tried to kill me. Or which one tried to save me.
All I know is one of them isn’t breathing.
And the other is on his feet now, only steps from my bed.
Staring straight at me.
Chapter 35
Bastien Montclaire
Turns out,nothing kills seduction faster than a corpse on the floor.
Adrenaline claws through my veins as I stand over the body.
The room is wrecked with furniture skewed and blood where there shouldn’t be. My pulse pounds hard, trying to tear through my skin.
Then I feel her eyes on me.
I lift my head.
She’s on the bed, naked, hands clutching at her throat. Her breaths come in short, ragged pulls, and tears streak down her cheeks. Her gaze is wide and wild, fixed on me.
On my face.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
This is the first time she’s ever seen me.
I’m covered in someone else’s blood, standing over a corpse, panting like a wild animal. This is not how I meant for this to happen.Not even close.
I move slowly. My hands rise, palms open, showing her I’m not coming after her. My chest heaves with the aftermath of the fight, breath scraping raw across my throat.
Her eyes don’t move.
Don’t blink.
She just stares, trembling, trying to understand who the hell I am.
I step over the dead man’s body, careful and controlled, every instinct still wired for threat. My focus never leaves her, not the way she holds her throat, not the tremor in her arms, not the terror widening her eyes as I move closer.
