"She’s out cold, Boss," Lev notes, frowning at her. "Did she take the whole dose?"
"Enough of it."
I scoop her up, shielding her face from the biting wind as I carry her back to the SUV.
The drive back to the penthouse is quiet.
Helena sleeps the sleep of the dead in my lap. I refuse to lay her on the seat beside me, keeping her close, absorbed by my heat.
My hand rests on her thigh, where the red dress has ridden up. Her skin is so soft. I trace patterns on her leg with my thumb, feeling the muscle twitch in her sleep.
I should move my hand. I don't.
I spend the drive watching the city lights play across her face. She looks younger like this. Without the armor of her suits and her sharp tongue, she’s a girl who tried to fight a war she didn't understand.
When we reach the penthouse, the transition from the grit of the docks to the sterile luxury of my world is jarring.
I carry her through the lobby again. The night shift guard looks up, sees the woman in my arms, and quickly diverts his attention, trained to be blind.
The private elevator whisks us up to the penthouse in silence.
The doors slide open, revealing the dark hallway.
The air is still and cool.
I walk down the hall, her weight a familiar burden now.
Ahead, on the left, is the door to the guest suite. That’s her room. Her cell. That’s where a prisoner belongs.
I adjust my grip, preparing to open the door and dump her on the bed.
I reach for the handle.
Then, I stop.
I look down. Her dark hair spills across my sleeve. Her lips are slightly parted, still swollen from my kiss.
If I put her in there, she wakes up alone. She wakes up behind a locked door, separated from me.
A possessive instinct uncoils in my gut, a hunger I haven’t felt in years.
My Queen.
The words echo in my head.
She tried to run tonight. To hurt me. She needs to be watched. She needs to be kept close, where I can see her breathing, where I can make sure the drug doesn't stop her heart.
Those are the lies I tell myself as I physically turn my back on the guest room door.
I walk past it, heading to the end of the hall. To the double doors of my room, the Master Suite.
I kick the door open.
My room is stark. Black walls, gray carpet, and a massive bed centered like an altar.
I walk to the bed and place her in the center of it.
The visual strikes me instantly. The vibrant, bloody red of her dress against the onyx sheets. It’s beautiful. She’s a sacrifice presented for a dark god.
