Chapter 2
ROMAN
A pulse throbs in my head like a drum beating…beating…fucking beating into my psyche as I stare up into icy blue eyes.
Time slows to a crawl. My very blood feels like it has turned to syrup in my veins and my surroundings fade away until it’s just me lying on the floor and the masked man with venomously blue eyes flaying me open, laying bare every single dark, poisonous secret I have.
Don’t see it.
Don’t see that part of me.
My chest tightens, and not just from the weight planted on it. My throat feels like it’s closing up—tightening and squeezing until I can barely breathe.
How the fuck does he know who I am?
“Your suit is too small, Roman,” the man growls softly, as if reading my thoughts.
Why is he not calling down the thunder on me? Why is there no radio alert to the other guards?
“And the guards here don’t exactly walk around sipping from a fucking flask while they're on duty,” he murmurs, his eyes still boring right into my soul.
Who the FUCK is this?
My eyes flit over his glossy black mask, then slip lower. For a moment, when my gaze lands on the ink swirling out from his shirt collar, my brain short circuits.
Vaughn.
For half a second, I try to make sense of how the man on the dais below has made his way up here, gotten the jump on me, and now has me pinned to the ground, the weight of his body on mine.
But then my eyes flick to the side, and I freeze.
There’s ink on his arms, peeking out from underneath his sleeves. More ink swirling over the backs of his hands, hands with long, veined fingers wrapped tight around my wrists, immobilizing me.
Not Vaughn.
“Val—?!”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses, glaring right into my eyes.
I try to swallow past the roaring, twisting, clenching sensation that has momentarily arrested my ability to breathe normally or think straight. To think at all, for that matter.
“How—?”
“Your hand tats,” he growls under his breath, his gaze sliding from my face to where he’s got my wrists pinned against the stone floor.
Shit.
“The flask, too.”
Double shit.
“And that suit…Jesus, man, think you could have found a tighter fit?”
I’m thinking of the right words to throw back in his face when I see the glint—or is it a twinkle—in his eyes as he grins under his mask.
“Not,” he murmurs, tipping his head to the side, “that I’m complaining, of course.”
Confusion swirls through me as I feel his gaze slide back over my face, then down to my chest, before it drags up over my immobilized arms.
What the—what, are you BLUSHING?
“Get OFF me,” I snap in a harsh whisper.
Val doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink as those icy blue eyes stab into me.
“I said—”
“Oh, I heard you the first time.”
My eyes narrow. “So why the fuck aren’t you—”
“Because I’m still waiting for your answer to my question.”
I say nothing.
Val exhales slowly. “The masks fucking suck, right?”
“What?”
“These masks,” he grunts, shifting his weight slightly, causing his thighs to squeeze around my ribs. “They’re fucking hot, sweaty, slightly overdramatic…”
His grip on my wrists loosens just a bit, and I take my shot.
With a grunt, I flex my arms and shove at his hands, wrenching my right wrist free.
I swing hard, snarling. Val jerks his head back, but my fist still connects with the edge of his jaw, knocking his mask askew and making him swear under his breath.
Then, just as quickly as I made my move, he counters.
Faster than I’d ever believe him capable of, the guy has my fucking wrists slammed back to the floor again, keeping me pinned hard as his weight settles on me once more.
His muscled thighs squeeze around my ribs, as if to remind me how little power I have right now.
How the fuck is he so fucking strong? I mean I’m—not to mince words—jacked. I lift heavy weights, daily. I’m with a training bag at least four times a week. I’m also in underground fights twice a month, minimum. Val is…a ballet dancer.
I grimace as every single joke I’ve made over the years to Evie, however good-naturedly, about ballerinas “not being real athletes” comes back to haunt me. I suddenly consider that Val’s one of the guys on stage lifting the female dancers—sometimes one-handedly—as if they weighed nothing at all.
Okay, shit. The guy is a lot stronger than I’d have guessed. And he needs to get the fuck off me. Now.
“Fucking let me go,” I snap. “Or I’ll—”
“What.”
His smirking, slightly unhinged grin is uncovered now that his mask has been knocked off. His wild, dark hair frames his high, sculpted cheekbones and his sharp jawline. His crystal blue eyes lance into me with a dangerous glint.
“Or you’ll what, Roman,” he grins. “Wait for me to loosen my grip again to test your reaction time? Yeah, I’m definitely doing that. Except how about this time, I give you a three second countdown so you can get the jump on me for sure.”
I glare wordlessly at him.
“That was a joke, by the way.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I got it.”
He sighs, settling his bulk onto me. His hands tighten around my wrists…
And an odd tingle, a single zap of feeling, starts like a hum in the middle of my chest and then sparks out like an electric jolt to my extremities.
You have a sickness. A corruption. Something that needs to be cut out of you…
I squeeze my eyes shut behind my mask as my throat tightens, choking off my own breath as blackness begins to swirl.
“No, Roman, you’re not dreaming,” Val sighs. “As much of a dreamboat as I am.”
I open my eyes to glare up at him again. His lips curl at the edges in a smug grin as he winks at me. “See? I’m still here. Lucky boy.”
“Get. Off.”
His brows arch, the smug grin lingering on his lips. “Get off as in you’re telling me to get off? Or are you asking me to get you off? Because, Roman, I have to say, a little please goes a long way—”
“Stop fucking around!” I snarl as I struggle in his grip. But, Christ, he’s goddamn immobile. And the more I try to shove at him, the more his hands tighten around my wrists.
The harder his strong, muscular thighs squeeze either side of my body.
The hotter his strong frame burns into mine.
And the more that fucking zapping sensation keeps sparking through my stomach, turning me inside out and sending my brain into spasms of uncontrollable thoughts.
Val tilts his head to the side, eying me in a slightly off-kilter, maniacal way that sucks the air from my lungs. His grip tightens on my wrists, and when it does, a little sound escapes my throat.
Val pauses, one brow arching slowly and dramatically. “Now, what was that?”
I swallow. “That was me grunting.”
“I think I like it when you grunt.”
“You need to get the fuck—”
“Yeah, no, we’ve already covered that. Catch up, Roman.”
When I glare at him again, he takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“First, tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”
“None of your—”
“It’s my brother’s house, and you’re not on the guest list.” He lifts a toned shoulder. “Pretty sure that makes it my business.”
“Maybe I was upset that I wasn’t invited,” I mutter.
Val pouts. “Aww, don’t get pissy, gorgeous. I’m sure your invitation just got lost in the mail.”
He winks and blows me an air kiss. My shoulders stiffen and my mouth twists.
“I’m not gay.”
I don’t mean to say it, but it just falls out, like a defense mechanism.
Val smirks. “Okay?”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, I said okay.”
“So get off me, motherfucker,” I spit.
His grin widens. “Hold up, do you think I’m pinning you to the ground right now as a foreplay thing?”
You have a sickness. A corruption. Something that needs to be cut out of you…
“You’re flirting with me. It needs to stop.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Fuck me. If this is your idea of flirting, where have you been all my—”
“Val,” I snap.
“Mmm, yeah, say my name, gorgeous.”
I lash out, coiling my muscles and shoving him hard. But just as I get an arm free, he’s grabbing that wrist again and shoving it back down, where it was before. We’ve shifted so that he’s further up my torso now, sitting on my sternum, his body folded as he leans down close to my face.
“Bad boy,” he murmurs quietly.
That fucking zapping sensation picks up speed, pulsing and flickering like wildfire or lightning through my body as I grit my teeth.
He shifts, and another sound escapes my mouth.
“And that?” he purrs.
“You’re…” I can actually feel my lungs squeezing this time. “You’re choking me.”
“Kinky,” he murmurs. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink. He just looks down at me with a mix of predatory hunger and dark curiosity.
For a hot second, I wonder if I’ve massively misjudged this guy. I mean, I obviously have, dismissing him as Evelina’s little ballet buddy for the last few years when clearly he’s a lot more than that, not to mention much stronger than I ever dreamed.
But suddenly, I’m also wondering if I’ve missed the fact that Val Bancroft could well be a fucking psycho. Because right now, he’s looking at me like he can’t decide if he wants to try to kill me or possible flay me open to see what’s inside…
…Or maybe do something else.
No.
“Val…”
With a slow sigh, he gradually sits up a little, easing his weight off my sternum and allowing my chest to rise with my breath again. But before I can get used to it, or hope it means he’s getting up, he starts to slide lower.
His knees stay on either side of my body as he slides down, pushing them down my ribs and then my hips. He never lets go of my wrists, and suddenly he’s basically lying on top of me, pinning me down with his bulk, still keeping my arms on the ground.
We’re barely inches apart.
Eye to eye.
His languid, casual pulse beating against my jangling, galloping one.
“You’ve got gorgeous eyes, by the way,” Val murmurs.
My chest seizes up.
“Gunmetal gray, with flecks of gold,” he adds, his brow furrowing as he looks deeply into my eyes, barely five inches from his own.
The air hums around me. Heat from his body radiates into mine. I swallow when one of his fingers casually strokes the pulse point on my wrist.
Then I feel something else.
Something hot.
Something throbbing.
Something…big.
The realization slams over me like a bucket of ice water, sucking the air from my lungs as the voices inside me come screaming to the surface and snarling in my ears.
You have a sickness. A corruption. Something that needs to be cut out of you…
He’s…hard.
Fucking hell.
I tense as Val’s eyes pierce mine. Wildness flickers in them, and I feel his body flatten even more against me. I bite back a groan, feeling his muscles coil. And when I feel the thing I refuse to acknowledge press against me, the zapping sensation starts to go haywire.
Adrenaline explodes through my system. Every muscle in my body tenses and clenches, and I bite down hard enough on my lip that I taste copper when he starts to move against me. And then—
No.
NO.
It’s just raw sensation. It’s…biology. Pure animal instinct.
…That’s how I explain to myself—or try to—why my dick is rapidly filling with blood and swelling to thickness inside my too-tight pants.
Against him.
“Val—”
“Well, well, well,” he murmurs in a dark, masculine, sultry tone that sends shivers rippling down the back of my neck. “Now what exactly is that big, thick fucking—”
“I’m not gay!”
My strength comes back to me as I blurt the words.
With a grunt, I somehow shove him off and roll us both over, disentangling myself from his grip on my wrists and still refusing to acknowledge that my cock is rock fucking hard and twitching against his through our pants as we grapple together on the floor.
What the fucking fuck…
Without thinking, I wind up and hit him, making him grunt as I catch him across the jaw. I shove back, scrambling up and half tripping over my feet until my back hits the wall behind him.
Val grimaces and shoves himself to his feet against the wall opposite me. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, frowning at the streak of red that comes away. He spits blood onto the ground before slowly looking up at me.
That unhinged, slightly manic grin is back as he glares at me.
“That wasn’t very fucking nice, Roman,” he grunts.
“I—” I swallow. “Sorry,” I mutter. “But I’m not fucking gay.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I’m not,” I spit viciously.
Val glances at my crotch. “Does your dick know that?”
“Look—”
“No, you look,” he snaps, slapping my pointed finger aside and crashing into my personal space, crowding me against the wall, something new flickering in his eyes. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here, Roman,” he hisses. “But you need to get the fuck out.”
I start to protest, but he shakes his head. “These are not good people,” he hisses. “Get the fuck out now, and I won’t tell my brother you were here.”
I frown. “Why would you do that?”
My breath chokes as he crowds right into my space again, his chest against mine, the heat of his body radiating against my skin, and his lips inches from mine. “Because,,” he growls quietly, “you’ve got a nice dick that I’d like to play with again someday.”
My whole world goes still as that zapping, twisting, throbbing sensation snakes around my heart and my very soul, and squeezes.
“Pretty sure he wants to play with me, too.”
He takes a step back as my entire brain function short-circuits, sparks flying everywhere as I struggle to swallow.
“I—I’m…” I shake my head, my eyes locked on his. “I’m not gay, Val,” I hiss.
“Yeah, well…”
That sound—that same sound as before—escapes my throat and tumbles pathetically over my lips when his hand cups my cock through my pants.
“Next time,” Val murmurs, winking at me, “maybe make sure you and your dick are on the same page. Now get the fuck out of here. Seriously.”