Chapter 7 #2
I try to twist away, but his body crushes mine like a cage.
“Though…” His lips curl into something wolfish. “You looked better with your mouth full of my cock.”
I freeze.
“What, that memory hit a nerve?”
“You’re gonna wish you’d fucking killed me.”
His grip tightens, my wrist bones grinding together until I’m sure they’ll snap. He leans in closer, but I don’t back down.
I slam my forehead into his face.
The crack is loud. Pain ricochets through my skull. He grunts, caught off guard, and I use the opening, ripping my arm free as my knife hits the ground with a dull clatter.
I bolt.
My boots slam against broken pavement, blood pounding in my ears. I don’t look back.
But I don’t have to.
“Oh, kitten, you think you get to run?”
He catches me in seconds.
His arm wraps around my waist, yanking me backward like I weigh nothing. My back crashes into the wall again. His forearm crushes against my throat, pinning me in place.
He leans in, his nose brushing mine. “Every time you run, I’m going to make it worse. You don’t get to escape me. Not ever.”
I spit. Right in his stupid face.
For a single, suspended second, everything freezes.
Then his smile curves into something unholy.
He slams my skull against the brick wall, stars burst behind my eyes. Before I can even suck in a gasp, his hand clamps around my jaw and forces it open. His fingers ram into my mouth, choking me.
“Open wider,” he snarls. “I can rip out every one of your fucking teeth and shove them down your throat. You think that’d shut you up? Think that’d stop that smart little mouth from running?”
I gag, struggling against his grip. My jaw aches from the pressure.
“Do you feel strong? Spitting in the face of the man who could skin you alive and still fuck your twitching body before you bled out?”
I thrash harder, my nails clawing at his arms, but he doesn’t even flinch.
“Don’t confuse my patience for mercy.” He finally yanks his fingers from my mouth, his spit-slick grip dragging down my chin. “I want you angry. I want you fighting. So when I finally ruin you, when I carve you open from the inside out, you’ll know exactly how fucking powerless you were.”
“I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you.” I mean it. I’ll die before I ever submit to a monster like him.
“A? Maxim’s fight is about to start. You’re gonna miss it—” Roxy’s voice slurs through the night.
Our heads snap toward the door.
The heavy stench of booze and sweat wafts out behind her, mingling with the smoke curling from inside. Her gaze jumps from me to Priest, confusion clouding her features.
She slurs in Russian, asking if this is a new friend.
The word friend nearly makes me laugh. Or scream.
Priest’s hand doesn’t leave my face—but his other drops to the gun at his waistband, fingers curling around the grip, the metal half-exposed.
He’s going to shoot her.
“Roxy, go back inside,” I snap in Russian. She flinches, uncertainty flashing in her eyes, but she nods and stumbles back, the door slamming shut behind her.
He doesn’t draw, but his hand lingers on the weapon, like he’s disappointed.
“I don’t like interruptions,” he mutters. “Almost made a mess.”
His grip shifts, dragging my attention back to him as he yanks my face up, his fingers digging deep into my jaw again.
“Stupid kitten’s Russian. Didn’t see that coming,” he sneers.
I jerk my face away, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. His thumb brushes across my bottom lip.
I feel it again. The betrayal of my own body. The heat, the pulse, the fucking shiver that crawls down my spine.
I hate him. I hate me more.
“Let. Me. Go.”
He leans in. “I like how you fight. But you don’t get it yet. I’m toying with you. You’re my prey. And I’m fucking starving.”
Then, just like that, he steps back. Releasing me.
The sudden loss of contact is disorienting. I sway for half a second, humiliated by the fact that I even register the space between us.
He smirks, his eyes crawling over me. “Tell me, filthy virgin. How many times did you touch yourself thinking about choking on my cock?”
“Go to hell.” My face burns—rage, shame, something I won’t name.
I spin on my heel and storm toward the warehouse door, desperate to get away from him, from this twisted, fucked-up encounter.
“Forget something?” he calls after me. “Your knife, maybe?”
I keep walking.
Thud.
The sound is sharp—a blade punching into wood just inches from my head.
A hot sting tears through my upper arm. I scream before I can stop it. A slice carved into my shoulder. Blood blooms through the fabric.
His grin is pure malice.
“Christ. That was even better than I imagined.” He licks his teeth. “Meant to stick you deeper, but fuck—you’ve got a scream on you, kitten. I’m hard just thinking about slicing you open to hear it again.”
My stomach twists. My hand goes to the wound, pressing hard as blood slips through my fingers.
He takes a step forward, and I bolt inside, the roar of the crowd hits like a sledgehammer. Bodies jostle. Smoke coils. Blood spills across the fight pit. Moving straight to the bar.
Drinking won’t help; I need to plan my getaway.
But fuck. I need the burn.
I need anything to drown whatever the hell just happened…and the fear threatening to choke me.