He ran his tongue over his lips, then across his teeth, giving me my moment to stare. Then his mouth curled, his expression turning vicious like a triggered animal.
I glanced at Red Mask. He didn’t remove his mask.
Only Enzo had revealed himself. Only the one who deemed mehis.
“Mask is off,” Enzo said, lifting the mask in one hand and spreading out his arms. “Do you see a monster, Blair?”
Reality swept into my bloodstream.
I couldn’t run or hide from him. No one would save me.
“Please,” Jett rasped, his voice breaking the silence. Blood cut his plea short as his head sagged forward.
Enzo raised Jett’s head to backhand him across the face. “I only enjoy pleading when it comes from my Fawns. Not from my victims.”
I stopped myself from correcting that his Fawns were also his victims.
Enzo’s attention shifted back to me. “Blair, do you want me to kill Jett?”
I snorted humorlessly, staring up at him until the strain made my neck hurt. “That can’t be a serious question.”
He smirked harshly. “What would you do for me tonotkill him?”
I pressed my lips into a thin line, refusing to answer him.
I shuddered when Enzo reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing along my skin. “Would you bow at my feet and suck my cock in exchange for his release?”
“Fuck you,” I spat.
His mouth twitched; he was not offended at all. “Don’t worry. I won’t choke you with my cockyet. Fortunately for you, I don’t provide free shows.” His palm slid over my cheek. “Jett isn’t worthy to see those pretty little lips wrapped around my dick.”
“Why?” I fired back. “Because you’re embarrassed by your small cock?”
His lips spread into a cold, predatory smirk.
He pulled a knife from his pocket, flipping it in his hand, and ignored the sounds coming from Jett.
Jesus. Does he have an arsenal in his coat?
Does he think he’s John freaking Wick?
“Keep running your mouth,” Enzo told me, stepping toward Jett and digging the tip into the hollow of his throat, right against his Adam’s apple. “And I’ll makeyouslit the douchebag’s throat.”
Jett froze.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“I thought this was what you wanted, little Fawn.” He pressed the tip deeper into Jett’s neck. “Answers to your questions.”
“I’m not your fucking Fawn.”
“Yet.” He pulled the knife away from Jett’s throat, then lowered himself to his knees until we were at eye level, and ran the blade along my cheek.
His scent filled my lungs, nearly intoxicating me.
I studied his face up close—a masterpiece, like something rare and untouchable.
For a heartbeat, I considered crossing that line.
