Page 9 of Thorne


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I will dismantle her.

Piece by piece.

The same way she built her systems. Quietly. Methodically. Without emotion. Without hesitation. I will take apart every layer of composure she hides behind until there's nothing left of the woman who thought spreadsheets could insulate her from consequences.

There will be nothing quick about it.

I want her to understand that.

I want her to know what kind of man she's sitting six feet from in the middle of the desert.

But even as the thought settles into place, something else threads through it—something darker, more complicated.

Because dismantling someone doesn't always mean killing them.

My mind flashes, unwanted, to the moment earlier when my hand closed around her throat. The steadiness of her pulse under my fingers. The way she didn't flinch. Didn't beg. Didn't try to pull away.

The control in her eyes.

The part of me that wants to break that control is raging.

That realization lands like acid in my chest.

I shut it down immediately.

Hatred is simple. Clean.

Hatred, I understand.

Anything else is a liability.

Across from me, Stratton shifts in the seat, the faint scrape of fabric against canvas carrying through the tent.

Then she tries again.

Quiet.

Almost like she's saying it to herself.

"Lily—"

My head snaps up before the word finishes leaving her mouth.

I'm across the tent before I know I've moved.

My hand finds her neck again, fast, instinctive, like my body has already decided the distance between us is a problem that needs solving. My fingers close around the side of her throat, not hard enough to hurt her, but firm enough that she feels how easily I could crush her windpipe.

I crowd her back into the chair and lean in until my face is inches from hers.

Too close.

"That name." My voice drops to a lethal whisper, inches from her face. "Does not come out of your mouth. Not ever."

My thumb presses beneath the hinge of her jaw without meaning to. The movement tilts her head back just enough that the line of her throat lengthens under my hand.

Her pulse is visible there.

Steady.