Pain had twisted across his face before he went rigid, frustrated he couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger.
Something he’d probably easily done dozens of times before without hesitation.
As much as Enzo hated to admit it, there was still some humanity left inside him.
Cruelty might’ve poisoned his blood, but it still ran through a heart. A damaged one. A working one. But a heart capable of compassion.
For me anyway.
The man staring me down might want to corrupt my soul, but at least he wanted it alive.
He dropped the towel. Tremors poured through my body as my gaze fell to his large cock. It was already hard and throbbing.
I yanked the handcuff when he joined me on the bed. He didn’t slip under the blanket, just sat on the edge, staring at me while biting into the corner of his lip.
I stopped tugging when he opened his mouth and held out his tongue, where a tiny key sat. My brows furrowed when he spat it on the floor.
Frowning, I tried to free myself again.
“Quit wasting your energy,” he said. “You need it for what we’re about to do.”
“And what’s that?” I snapped, too tired for his games.
He rolled his neck. “I’m about to learn all your secrets, Blair.”
I held back the urge to tell him he’d already tried. More than once. Even a gun hadn’t worked.
“That needs to be done naked?” I asked.
“That towel was uncomfortable.” He kicked it away from the bed.
“If I tell you my secrets, then I want to know yours,” I said stubbornly.
He rolled his neck again before crawling closer. I smelled his mint toothpaste as he got in my face, and my back straightened against the headboard. I inhaled more of him, smelling fresh soap and citrus.
I gasped when he breathed my skin before his nose nudged mine. My body relaxed, briefly forgetting the jerk had me handcuffed.
Warmth spread through me, fogging my thoughts, as my free hand drifted to the tattoo on his right pec, directly over his heart.
His hand lowered to the matching mark on my stomach.
Both were broken halos.
“What does that mean?” I whispered, our mouths inches apart.
“Each Son has a symbol.” He traced my tattoo with his finger. “I marked you with mine.”
“Do you choose them yourself?”
He nodded. “We don’t do names.”
“A broken halo,” I muttered. “How very devilish of you.”
He smirked, his hand sliding lower to bunch my panties in his fist. My pulse kicked hard against my ribs.
All I wore was the T-shirt he’d given me the night before and a pair of panties.
I made no attempts to stop him.
