20. 20 - Enzo
I’m wiping down the walls when I hear the soft pad of footsteps on the stairs. The girl’s light breathing sounds a little fast, and she pauses, her feet shifting from side to side when I don’t turn around.
“Enzo?” Her voice is tentative, on edge.
My lips pull up as I continue in my work, my image reflected back at me in the metal. Zella makes her way over to me, and I watch as her reflection gets clearer.
“Maverick told me to come down here?”
The words are uncertain, and it sends a rush of enjoyment through my veins. I like her being on edge around me. I spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, tormented with images of her.
A little fear in return is only fair.
I’m not expecting soft fingers to land against my back, and I flinch away from the touch instinctively. With a growl, I spin, my fingers shooting out and wrapping around her slim neck.
She chokes in my grasp. The entertainment I felt a moment ago has disappeared, and I drag her closer to snarl in her face. “Never touch my back.”
Her face has darkened, the choking breaths an apology I don’t give a flying fuck about as I loosen my hold and she backs away from me.
“I’m sorry–”
“I don’t care.” Cutting her garbled words off, I go back to my task. Dipping the cloth into the bucket, I run it over a patch I’ve already done, my flash of temper ebbing away as quickly as it came.
Still. Better she learn now than later.
When I finally turn to her, I expect her face to be filled with fear, for her to flinch away from me. But she’s silent, her eyes distant as she stares at the far wall. She doesn’t respond to my movements at all.
Frowning, I take a step closer. “What’s wrong with you?”
It takes a moment, but she blinks, turning to me. A red ring of finger marks already rings her neck, and I pause.
It looks like a collar.
I expect fear, but she responds calmly enough. “Where do you want me?”
Her innocent question sends my eyes flying to the table. She looked perfect on there.
I’ve never had a female on my table before. Perhaps it’s something I should consider. Expand my horizons, so to speak. Evil doesn’t only exist in the men of the world.
But the only person I can imagine there right now is my little prey, who’s watching me with wide eyes.
Fuck, does she know how ripe she is? Just waiting for someone to come along and destroy her innocence.
I want to destroy it.
Fire blazes in my veins, but I force it down. Ignoring her, I stalk over to the desk I have set up in the corner, sitting down and reaching for my paperwork.
She follows me. “So… what are we doing?”
The battered leather chair creaks as I swivel around, villain-style.
Maybe I should get a cat.
Although blood would be hard to clean from the fur. Maybe not.
Irrationally disappointed in my non-existent cat, I snap at her. “You’re going to sit here and say nothing. I need to work.”
Her eyes follow my pointing finger. “You want me to sit on the floor?”
“Did I stutter?” I ask coolly. “Feel free to go back upstairs if not.”
I’m expecting her to kick off, maybe to storm out, but she surprises me when I see her settling down on her knees out of the corner of my eye. The floor is solid concrete and her legs are bare under that ridiculous white dress, but she doesn’t murmur as she sets her hands in her lap.
I ignore the way my cock hardens at the sight of her.
She wants to sit there instead of going back upstairs? Fine.
I spend the next hour working through camera footage of the city. John Millers is a typical blue-collar male. He goes to work in his car garage at the same time every day, returning home by six sharp every evening. Man likes routine. I can appreciate that.
Shame he’s a perverted son of a bitch. Abby Millers isn’t the only girl he’s hurt.
It doesn’t take me long to realize that this might be the easiest run I’ve ever done, and my jaw locks in disappointment. I was hoping for more of a chase than this podgy fucker’s going to give me.
But the look in Abby Millers’ eyes tells me he’s earned his spot on my table, so a quick one will have to do.
I calculate a rough plan in my head and lean back, stretching my arms up and pulling out a knot in my back. The space around me is silent, and my eyes move to the girl.
She’s in exactly the same position she was an hour ago, her breathing too quiet for me to pick up and her eyes closed. There’s no sign of the fire I saw before, no trace of the quiet strength she showed with my hands around her neck.
No sign of life whatsoever.
It annoys the fuck out of me.
“Why are you so quiet?” I demand. My voice echoes off the walls, and she jumps. Her eyes slide open, the bright green turning to me in question.
“I thought you wanted me to be quiet?”
Surveying her, I tap my fingers on the chair. “Nobody is that quiet.”
It’s true. It’s almost impossible for someone to be truly silent for that length of time. People shift, stretch, cough, sneeze, pick their fucking nose, scratch their ass.
She’s silent. Those golden cheeks develop a hint of color as we watch each other. Finally, she swallows, pushing back a stray piece of hair from her face.
“I’m used to it,” she murmurs. “Ethan used to make me sit for hours, and I had to be still.”
Her breath hitches when she says that fucker’s name, and my fingers tap harder.
I think Ethan Moore will be on my table soon.
“I don’t like it,” I grunt. “Say something.”
A hint of challenge enters her eyes. “What do you want me to say?”
Is she baiting me intentionally? Her head tilts to the side, all fucking innocence, but I’m not buying it.
She’s fucking perfect. Nobody is this perfect.
It’s not right.
I want to see her lose control. I want to see her scream, see her skin leech of color as terror steals the breath from her lungs.
Even at the apartment, she showed no fear.
How the fuck is she going to survive when she can’t recognise a predator even if he’s staring her in the face?
My hand wraps around the top of her arm. She finally jerks, her body twitching as she tries to pull away from me.
My lips curl into an amused smile. It’s cute.
Like a kitten pulling away from a tiger.
Lifting her is easy, and her hands bat at me ineffectively as I pull her across the room. “What are you doing?”
She tries to hold her ground, pushing her feet into the floor, but there’s no grip to be found.
“I’ve decided this is what we’re doing today.
” My grin is still lingering as I push her onto the table and she scoots back, her bare feet sliding up the metal.
Rolling my eyes, I grip her ankles and tug her forward.
She slides down with a shocked cry, but I’m already winding the leather around her lower legs, entangling her as I pull it tightly.
Her legs jerk, parting for me like the fucking red sea, toes twitching like she’s dangling from a damn rope as she tries to pull them free.
I pinch one, just to see what she does, and she curls them in like I’m about to cut one off.
“I don’t understand.” Her voice is raised now as I place my hand directly into her chest and push her down firmly, until her back is flat against the metal.
Her heart thunders under my palm as I push up her arm, getting the straps in place and doing the same to the other.
Her head whips from side to side as she watches me, and I breathe in deeply.
I’m expecting the familiar tangy, slightly sour scent of fear, a mix of sweat and heavy breathing, but all I can scent is her.
She smells like fucking flowers, like the forest.
Leaning back, I watch her. Her breathing has quickened, pushing up her breasts in a regular rise and fall.
The white cotton is stretched, showing me a hint of peaked brown nipples shadowed against the cloth every time she breathes in.
her face framed in white-gold wisps of hair that have escaped from her braid.
She looks like prey.
She looks like a goddess.
She looks like mine.