Chapter Seven
“What the fuck happened now, Eiden?” Beau’s voice hits me with that usual mix, half a snarl, half a grin. Like he’s caught between patching me up or knocking me out.
“I cut myself.” I move past him, blood sliding down my fingers. The hallway smells faintly of gun oil and smoke like usual, but all I taste is her.
“Jesus Christ,” Beau mutters, grabbing the first aid kit with the efficiency of a man about to stitch up a rabid pit bull. “If you keep this up, I’ll need to order more needles and a damn blood bank.”
Caleb’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp and lit with predator’s amusement. “You fucked her, didn’t you?”
I give him a look, but it only makes his grin widen. He feeds off this, and he also knows me too well.
“I thought Caleb was the sadist,” Beau drawls, clearly enjoying the show.
“I didn’t cut her,” I snap, stepping into the bathroom, my boots leave faint smears of red on the tile. “I cut myself, that’s all.”
“I can see that!” Beau snaps behind me.
Caleb follows, slow and lazy, a wolf stalking with no hurry to eat. “Good. That detached version of you was boring as shit. Glad to have the unhinged bastard back.”
“Don’t fucking encourage him,” Beau says without looking up, tone clipped but hands steady. “The last thing we need is Eiden going full psycho with the one woman who cuts off balls and sews them into eye sockets.”
I sit, forearm resting heavy on my thigh. My pulse is still jacked, my skin’s still humming from her. Every breath I drag in is threaded with the memory of her scent, and my cock twitches, hard. I dig my nails into my leg to keep from showing it.
“You like to mark them with your belt and make them beg,” I growl at Beau. “Don’t talk to me about fucked up.”
He doesn’t flinch, just lifts my hand, eyeing the gash as if it’s nothing new. “You’re dangerous when you get this way. Obsessive. Bloody, and it’s only going to get worse.”
“More fun, you mean,” Caleb cuts in, his grin curling higher.
Beau shoots him a glare. “Don’t you have something to burn?”
“Wish I did.” Caleb slaps Beau on the back and saunters off, whistling.
Beau’s attention stays locked on the wound. The sting of antiseptic hits and I grit my teeth. The pull of the needle through my skin is steady, precise, the thread rasps against raw flesh.
“What if she calls the cops? They’ll get your blood, Eiden. You left a trail,” he says, worried.
“She won’t,” I mutter.
“Why not?”
“She’s killed two men. Last thing she wants is cops sniffing around. Besides…” My mouth curves in a slow, dangerous smirk. “She enjoyed my visit.”
Beau freezes, needle poised. His eyes narrow. “Did you fuck her?”
“With my fingers. With my mouth.” I meet his gaze, unblinking. “With my knife.”
He huffs a laugh and finishes the last stitch as if closing a war wound. “You sick fuck.”
“Says the man who keeps a locked chest in his room no one’s allowed to touch.”
“Done.” He ties the knot tight, the thread biting into my skin. “Try not to rip them open.”
No promises.
I head to my room, muscles coiled tight, skin burning. The door clicks shut behind me, and I strip, shirt, cargos, all of it. Bloodied clothes hit the floor in a damp splatter. I’ll burn them later.
The shower hisses to life, steam filling the small space. I step in, let the hot water slam into my back hard enough to sting. It doesn’t do shit, my cock’s already hard, thick, and aching.
All I can see is her, the way her legs trembled, the sound of her gasp when my tongue fucked her hole. My blood streaking her skin crimson while she came apart under my tongue.
The taste is still in my mouth. I’d carve myself open again just to have it back.
I wrap my fist around my cock, one stroke and it’s her voice in my head, whispering curses as I made her cum. My forehead hits the tile, the rhythm building, faster, tighter. My abs clench, thighs lock, precum slicking my grip.
Her scent. Her heat. The memory of her cunt wrapped around the hilt of my knife, fuck.
My voice breaks on her name.
“Tamsin.”
The orgasm rips through me, brutal, my cum striping the tile as the water washes over. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I’m smiling before it’s even gone.
I can’t wait for her next kill.
She’s following Sterling Breck. CEO. Philanthropist, local sweetheart.
Fucking predator in sheep clothes.
He’s not the real danger, not physically. That honor goes to his chief of security, Bram Locked.
We know him, he’s former special forces and one of the men who trained us before he decided the highest bidder’s dollar was worth more than a conscience. Now he works for a man who gets off on shoving panties into women’s mouths and cutting their air until they pass out, so he can fuck them limp.
Sterling is shit but Bram’s more dangerous.
I sit on my bike, full black gear, helmet locked, visor down, the world reduced to a dark slit of glass. My breathing echoes inside it, steady, controlled, even though every muscle in me is drawn tight.
She’s smart, wearing a new wig, different style of clothes—she looks softer, smaller. Sweet enough to pass for Sterling’s favorite kind of prey.
I hate it.
At exactly 10:32, she strolls to the sleek chrome coffee trailer parked out front of Sterling’s building. He’s already there.
She smiles at him, leans in, brushes his sleeve.
I see red. Not a flash, a thick, slow bleed that floods my vision because she's smiling at someone who isn't me.
She should never smile at anyone but me.
“Stalking much?” Beau’s voice crackles in my ear.
“I told you I’d turn the mics on if you shut the fuck up,” I growl, my hands tightening around the handlebars until the leather creaks.
Beau laughs, low and infuriating. “Easy, killer. Just making sure you don’t snap anyone’s neck—” a pause, “—in broad daylight, I mean.”
My jaw ticks, my fingers drag slowly over the tank of the bike, the metal vibrating faintly under my gloves like it knows I’m holding back.
He smiled at her.
Looked at her.
Touched her.
After what happened two nights ago? Not a fucking chance her next target gets to breathe the same air as her for more than a minute. If she doesn’t drop him fast enough with the drugs, I’ll gut him where he stands, and she can hate me for it later.
“Bram is here.” My voice is flat, venom-dipped, and the comms go silent for a beat.
“Bram, as in—” Caleb’s voice cuts in, alert.
“Yup.” My gaze doesn’t leave her. She laughs at something Sterling says, her hand brushing his arm again.
Fucker.
“He’s dangerous,” Caleb mutters, low enough that even through comms it feels like a warning.
“I know.” My spine straightens. A shadow moves in my periphery—him, walking toward them.
Bigger than I remember, bulkier. Great!
He has the same dead eyes. “I’ll kill him before he gets to her,” I grunt, Beau and Caleb both hum their agreement.
Bram’s gaze sweeps her. Slow. Methodical.
Up. Down. Lingering. Back up again.
His lips stay shut, but a muscle jumps in his jaw, his fists flex, and he cracks his neck to the side once. I know he’s onto her; he smells trouble.
She turns and walks away, and his attention follows. He leans to Sterling, says something and he nods. After Bram peels off, to the wrong direction, not to the office but straight after her.
“He’s going after her,” I growl, the sound vibrating in my chest. The bike roars to life under me, but I hold the pace slow, calculated, tailing his black SUV through the back streets.
She’s not heading home. She’s going to the hideout, and now so is he.
“On our way,” Beau’s voice cuts in.
I’m not waiting for them, not risking it, not when it comes to her.
He thinks he can touch her.
He thinks she’s unprotected.
He doesn’t know I’d skin him alive just for breathing near her.
I shadow him through a busted fence and into the rusted shell of the old burned warehouse, he parks and moves inside.
I follow, mask on, gloves tight, my boots soundless against the concrete.
He climbs the stairs after her. “I’m guessing you’re the bitch who made Henry and Camden disappear,” Bram sneers the second he hits the door.
“I knew something was off,” he continues, voice dripping venom. “Both of them vanish in the same fucking week.”
“Well,” she snaps, “it’s not like the world lost anyone important. Just two less rapists roaming free.”
That’s my hellcat. Not a tremor in her voice, just fire, pure and steady.
“Ah, a victim on a little vengeance tour,” Bram says, leaning his bulk against the doorframe, blocking the only exit. The frame groans under his weight. “How poetic.”
“I’m not a victim,” she replies, voice cold enough to frost over steel. “I’m justice.”
His laugh is loud, hollow. He steps inside and flinches just enough to tell she probably showed him that fucking knife, but that grin stays plastered on his face.
“Sweetheart, no one touches Sterling,” he says, stepping closer. “Not on my watch, and I think it’s time you learned what happens when someone tries.”
He lunges, but I’m already moving, my hand closing around the back of his coat, yanking him off his feet before he can touch her. His boots scrape against the concrete as he stumbles, trying to find balance, but I slam him into the wall hard enough for the metal beside us to rattle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Tamsin’s voice cuts through, furious. She’s holding that little knife as if it’s enough to take down a man his size.
“Saving your ass, hellcat,” I growl, not taking my eyes off him.
Bram recovers fast. His fist arcs toward my head, and I duck just in time, but the second one lands, cracking against my jaw and flooding my mouth with blood.
I drive my elbow into his ribs, hard enough to knock the wind out of him; he grunts, staggered, but not enough to stay down. His next swing is wide, but I twist low. I slam my fist into his gut then snap a hook to his jaw. He stumbles back a step.
He’s strong, but so am I, and unlike him, I’ve got something important to protect: her.