Chapter 5 #2
His eyes narrow. He says with certainty, "So you want to break me."
My lips graze his ear. "I'm going to take the edges off you until the Omni can figure out how to best use you."
He lets out a frustrated, angry breath. Pissed eyes meet mine. "What do I get out of it besides seeing tomorrow?"
Without hesitating, I answer, "Power."
We stare at each other until the air turns too heavy. I force myself to go to the wall and turn the dial on.
The chair vibrates beneath him, barely at first. Then it intensifies while a low hum fills the room.
His back goes rigid. "What the—" He clenches his teeth as the microcurrent hits his muscles.
I stand over him, asserting, "A member of the Underworld must exhibit composure. How quickly will you lose yours, Brax O'Malley?"
He groans under his breath. His jaw locks. His biceps flex against the restraints. His legs tense, toes curl, and then his determined blues fixate on me.
I don't move, fighting sensations that shouldn't be attacking me in this moment. But I've quickly learned Brax isn't like other men I've met. Something is different with him. I just can't put my finger on it yet.
A bead of sweat slides from his temple down to his jaw.
"Breathe," I instruct. "If you resist the current, you'll make it worse."
He ignores me. Of course.
Another surge hits him, and he sucks in a sharp breath.
His body jerks in small movements, enough to indicate he's reaching his limit.
"Had enough?" I smirk.
He doesn't answer.
I go to the wall and turn the dial up one notch.
A raw, primal, and infuriatingly arousing growl comes out of him, echoing against the concrete.
I lower my voice. "Say. It."
His chest heaves, and his hands clench into fists so tight his knuckles turn white. Finally, he breaks, snapping, "Enough!"
I turn the dial off.
The room drops into silence except for Brax's ragged breaths. His muscles twitch as the current dissipates.
I approach slowly and unlock the cuff.
His arm drops to his thigh, heavy, almost limp. His voice shakes. "What…was that?"
"Lesson one."
"Of how many?"
"Three."
His laugh comes out dark. "You enjoyed that."
"No, I didn't."
He lifts his head, eyes locking onto mine with heat that could scorch the walls. "You like seeing me suffer."
"I like seeing you survive."
He stands slowly, muscles still trembling. He's bigger than me, stronger than me, and could squeeze the life out of me.
If I'm not careful, he might.
His hand slides between my thighs.
I gasp.
His voice drops low, dangerous. "I knew your panties just got wet."
My heart's never raced so fast. I can't move, and I should.
He strokes his finger over my pants. "What's lesson two, Minx?"
The red light blinks in the corner for the first time since we got into the room.
They're watching and calculating what to do with him.
And me.
I push away from him and clear my throat. "Loyalty. And that one is much harder."
"Loyalty. Let me guess. I kneel. Swear my soul. Kiss a ring?" He glances at my lips.
I snap back into control and walk toward the door. "Follow me."
He obeys.
The panel automatically opens into the laundry room with another hiss.
"Well, abracadabra," he mutters.
I bite on my smile and go into his kitchen. I gesture to the table. "Sit."
He taunts, "You keep ordering me around. I think you like it."
I select the seat across from him and repeat, "Sit."
He turns the chair backward and drops into it. He asks, "You said loyalty is harder than letting you electrocute me? Is it harder than watching you pretend you don't want to climb me?"
Heat flares in my chest. "Stop testing my boundaries."
"Stop pretending you don't like it when I do," he provokes.
My cheeks heat. I reprimand myself and start, "Loyalty means you give the Underworld something that matters."
"Money? Information? Blood?"
"Truth."
He laughs like he can't help it. "Minx, I don't know who taught you how to interrogate men, but truth is the last thing you'll ever get out of me."
"You think so?"
He nods, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "People like me survive by lying."
I lean forward. "People like you die by lying."
Amusement crosses his expression.
I tilt my head, widen my eyes, and coyly ask, "Tell me why you broke into restricted files?"
His face hardens.
I add, "Why did you run a search on me?"
It's not the question I have to get an answer to, but I can't help asking. When I found out he searched for me, it kept me up at night.
He goes still. Something sharp shutters behind his gaze. His knee nudges mine under the table. "Why do you think I looked for you?"
"You tell me."
"What was I supposed to do? Get stuck in a sweat lodge with a woman who drills me for hours and not find out who she is?" he relays.
I arch an eyebrow. "And what did you find?"
His voice drops to gravel. "You're fake online. They don't have anything on the real you."
My thighs clench. Damn him.
A hidden red light for a camera installed near his top cabinet blinks.
They want results.
I exhale and sit back. "The Underworld requires more than wordplay. More than flirting. More than defiance."
His jaw ticks. "Then tell me what the hell loyalty means in the Underworld because I sure as hell know what it means in the real world."
I smile. "It means you give me something you don't want to give."
He tilts his head. "Like what?"
"Your weapons," I reply.
He laughs. Loudly. "Oh, sweetheart. I'll give you my tongue before I hand over my weapons."
"You'll give me both if I want them." My pulse skyrockets.
Shit. Why did I say that?
He stares at me with a look that says he's torn between throwing me against a wall and throwing me out of his house.
"Why?" he demands. "Why do you need my weapons?"
"Because you're unpredictable. Dangerous. And not in a good way."
He grunts, "There's a good way to be dangerous?"
"Yes."
Something dark flashes in his eyes. Slowly, like each movement costs him, Brax reaches down his side and pulls a knife from the waistband of his sweats. He places it on the table between us.
Damnit! He could have killed me!
"Good boy. Now go get the rest," I order.
He glares. "You've got to be kidding me."
"No. And if you leave anything out, they'll know and tomorrow will never come," I warn, pointing at the red light.
He slowly turns his head and mutters, "Fuck."
"All of it," I reiterate.
He scowls, but gets up. One by one, he piles weapons on the table from all over his house. Every time he acts like that's it, I give him a look and he grumbles, then brings more.
Finally, he reaches behind him, pulls a gun from the chair cushion, and slams it down.
My brows rise. "Done?"
"No."
He stands, opens a cabinet, and retrieves a crowbar.
"Brax—"
"Not done," he snipes, then yanks open a drawer. A smaller gun. A set of lock picks. Another knife. He dumps a six-inch gun, a set of brass knuckles, and another knife on the table.
I fold my hands, trying not to seem shocked, but we're running out of table room. I had no idea Brax had an entire arsenal. I ask, "Is that all?"
"No," he growls.
He stomps to the bedroom, returns with a bat, and tosses it on top.
He fumes, "Assume you want that, too?"
I rise and stare at the camera.
The light turns blue.
I spin. "Go ahead and put your weapons back."
He scrunches his face. "I'm confused. I thought you were taking them?"
"Nah. Good to know where you keep everything. I'll see you later," I nonchalantly state, wink, and exit before he can say anything else.