Mesmerized, I stood and flipped off the one-way mirror filter so she could see me. Fuck the guy. She was the only thing in the room that mattered.
With a steady arm and exquisite precision, Lina dragged the blade across his throat. Slow and purposeful. Making sure he felt every microscopic inch of steel slicing through his life.
Then she glanced in my direction, lips forming a soft, teasing kiss in the air. A silent promise of more to come.
She was cruel and twisted, and I fucking loved it.
She did all of this for me. She put on a fucking show just so I could enjoy myself. The door swung open, and she stepped through in all her bloody glory, my knife still clutched in her hand.
I barely remembered crossing the room—my body just moved. I hauled her against me, crushing my mouth to hers. She tasted like goddamn perfection. I was fucking hungry for her, consumed by desire.
“Not that I didn’t enjoy the entire performance,” I breathed against her lips, “but you rushed the ending. Why?”
She smirked and nudged me back. “You have physical therapy. We need to go. Can’t be late.”
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.
She left me standing there—rock hard, half feral, and emotionally unstable—in the blood-soaked torture room because of a PT appointment. And for some reason, I found that ridiculously attractive.
With my shoulders sagging, I followed her upstairs. My shirt was bloodstained, so I changed into a clean one while she washed up. Dorin already had the car running.
Fuck my life. Let the real torture begin.
Chapter 33
ADELINA
Life at the house had settled into a semblance of normalcy with Cezar around. Despite what he’d been through, he got along well with everyone, always laughing and smiling, masking his past. We’d only attended a few sessions, and he acted like such a baby about it.
I couldn’t even blame him. Every time we got home, he’d limp inside, whining dramatically about how sore he was. I was convinced half of it was an act to get me to massage him—and the worst part? It worked every single time.
Dorin cooked for us every night, and we ended up in the kitchen together like one big, fucked-up family.
Family.
The longer he stayed, the more I wondered if I could ever go back to the life I had before him. Viktor still needed to die—that hadn’t changed—but Cezar… he made everything complicated in all the wrong and right ways.
It was almost noon, and he still hadn’t gotten himself out of bed. He slept like a bear, like he was trying to make up for a lifetime of unrest. Dorin was finishing lunch, so I headed upstairs to get him.
I opened the door and halted. He was not asleep. He was definitelynotasleep.
“Ah, fuck—you scared me,” Cezar blurted, pulling his hand from under the blankets way too late to pretend he wasn’t just going to town.
I raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you doing?”
“All right, not fair. Trying to relieve some tension here in my self-pity, okay? I’m not left-handed, this shit is hard.” He pouted.
I laughed outright. “Clearly not working out too well for you.”
He held out one hand pathetically. “Care to help out a temporarily crippled man?”
I stayed planted in the doorway. “Why are you always so turned on, Cezar?”
“You just make me so fucking horny,” he admitted excitedly.
“Well,” I teased, “I could get one of the guys—”
“NO… no helping hands needed. You’re the only one I want touching my dick,” he declared.
