Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Fourteen fucking hit me.
The sting of it tingles along my cheek as I loom over her petite frame and fuck me if I don’t feel a jolt of electricity with it.
Holland’s gaze snaps in hatred, and then she’s rearing both bound legs up to donkey kick me.
Adrenaline sings through my blood, and immediately, I drop my weight down on her, pinning her to the bed.
I’m far, far bigger than Holland, but she doesn’t seem to realize or care.
In a blink, her hand is flashing toward my face to hit me again.
I let her, hovering my face over hers, wanting to see her eyes change the second she realizes she’s fucked.
She was fucked the second she decided to work with my brother.
I don’t let that shit fly, woman or not.
That same gut-churning feeling twists my stomach.
The out-of-control feeling that’s been taking over ever since my brother got out of prison.
Holland’s hand makes contact. The sting blooms, and I wait for recognition in her gaze. Only, it doesn’t come. Instead, what comes is another swipe from her other hand, only this time she uses her nails and pain rakes across my face. Pain—distracting, softening pain.
Instinctually, I relax into her, and then I realize what I’m doing. Hissing, in anger, I snatch up her hands, pinning them over her head.
“Go to hell,” Holland growls, trying once, uselessly, to yank out of my grip. She can’t. Her body is weak, but her hatred is strong.
And so, she tries.
A flash of…something fills me. Other men I’ve had in this position cower to me.
Holland doesn’t cower. As I watch the woman under me spit fire with her eyes, the iron grip of the anxiety I’ve had loosens its hold on my chest. For a brief second, I feel a curl of curiosity.
What would she do if I let her go? She’d actually hurt me.
And the thought makes me hard. Just as quickly, horror rolls through me. I roll off Holland, so she doesn’t feel where my thoughts went. She pops up like a bear trap, then her legs are swinging, and that donkey kick I was avoiding snaps into my stomach and groin.
I explode out a breath, paralyzing pain exploding through my pelvis, nausea following right after. It grips me so hard I can’t think of anything else, and there’s nothing but the peace that pain brings.
Then, Holland’s grip is in my hair, and she’s yanking my face toward her fist. The hatred rolling off her is almost palpable in its purity. There’s no pity here. No second-guessing. No attempts to exploit any deeper weakness.
It’s so refreshing, I have to stifle a groan.
And then her fist smashes into my face. Again. It’s not hard, and her fingers in my hair feel damn-near like a caress. It barely registers compared to her kick, but it shocks me right back into that place where I go when someone’s trying to hurt me: peaceful singularity.
Out of habit, I almost drop to my knees, palms up. Let her do what she wants to me.
Then the sounds of her harsh breathing break through my fog. Blinking, I stare down at her. Holland is panting, still swinging for my face, but she’s clearly struggling. She looks…emaciated. Far too unwell for just leaving her in here for a few hours.
Was it a few hours?
Smack. Smack, claw, punch.
I suck in a breath. Getting so busy you lose track of time is a bitch.
Slowly, Holland’s strikes grow weaker, and as they do, reality sets back in.
What will my brother do now that I have his girl? Is she his fuck toy? Something to break the boredom? Or maybe he thinks she was the way to get to me?
The thought makes me freeze.
She did get to me. Just now. I almost dropped to my knees in front of her.
I take a step back, sucking in a breath. What is wrong with me? Anxiety grips me in its sharp claws.
How the hell would my brother know my type?
Velvet. She must have gotten paid more than I was paying her.
My fists clench. I’ll kill her. No one betrays me like that.
The next time Holland tries for my face, I snap my arm out, shoving her back so hard a cry leaves her lips.
No one betrays me like that.
And yet, my traitorous dick doesn’t care. I’m hard as stone, and I struggle frantically to get myself under control.