Chapter 6
Donavan
I set this place up before bringing her here. I’m glad I overly prepare because I didn’t account for the three assholes turned heroes. What I didn’t stuff into my backpack of depravity was a fucking blindfold and with the burn of her angry eyes on the side of my face, I’m regretting that slipup.
She’s like a five-pound chihuahua, vicious yet ineffective. She might be able to break skin, but ultimately she’d never be able to take down an enemy. I resist the urge to walk up to her and pinch her cheeks just to make her growl and rage a little more.
It shouldn’t turn me on. I shouldn’t have to keep my side profile to her so she can’t see what her anger does to my body. I don’t think the proclaimed Marine would keep cool if I walked up to her with my cock straining against the front of my jeans.
The urge to put an end to all three of the guys is strong, but that’s not why I’m here. Three dead young men would bring a little more heat than I need right now, but silence instead of them bitching is sounding better and better by the minute.
“There will be absolutely no fucking mercy,” the one with the biggest balls roars as he fights against the ropes.
I raise an eyebrow at him. He sees it as the challenge it is.
I have no doubt the guy would be a worthy opponent.
I’m sure the Marine Corps trained him to be deadly in a fight, but there’s a difference between the two of us.
Where he’d probably pull back some, that pesky moral compass of his getting in the way, I silenced that voice years ago.
I’d rip him to pieces and smile as I painted the walls with his blood.
It gives me an edge over nearly anyone who thinks they have what it takes to stand against me.
“Do you have any idea who my father is?” the noisy one spits, his eyes narrowed as if he thinks it will make him look scarier.
Does the idiot not remember he’s tied to a fucking chair? That he hardly put up a fight while being tied up? I bet he’s regretting being chivalrous now.
I look out the window, keeping my back to the wall. Darkness shrouds everything, the day having slipped away while I waited for Nash to fucking get here. Shadows dance in front of the house, but there’s still no sign of the man who will deal with this problem.
I let my gaze skate toward Alani again but I don’t have to look at her to know she’s still looking at me.
Her glare is a real thing on my skin, the heat of it warming me.
My eyes trail down her body, and I fight against the worry that she may be cold.
The house is deserted and without electricity.
The few candles I lit just to avoid any surprises aren’t providing much light.
Her hands curl into fists against the arms of the dining room chair she’s sitting in, and I picture what all of that anger would feel like against my skin.
How her little fists would attempt to fight me as I strip her naked.
How her teeth would gnash at me, try to rip at my skin, only for her jaw to grow lax and hang open when she comes.
She shifts in her seat, squeezing her legs tighter, and I have to look away.
The assuming light rumble of a chuckle that makes it to me from across the room makes me want to prove to her that she has no power over me, but I know better than to get close to her.
Asserting my position, reminding her how dangerous I am, isn’t part of the plan, and going against the plan only leads to trouble.
I don’t think Nash nor Ayla would be very impressed if I end up killing the woman.
The sound of a car pulling up fills the inside of the cottage. Although there’s a greater chance that it’s Nash than anyone else, I still position myself to have the best advantage and wait.
Silence swarms around me, and I remember a time when something like this would make my heart race. It wouldn’t scare me, but the thrill of a possible fight always had the ability to get my blood pumping. These days, almost nothing seems to make that happen.
I chance one more look at Alani as the door opens, and I pray it’s Nash. The thought of someone else shooting first and asking questions later runs the risk of hitting her, and for some fucked-up, unexplainable reason that does have the power to make my pulse kick up a notch.
I shove it down—that threat of vulnerability—and hold my gun up, my finger on the trigger because if I’m anything, it’s prepared.
My cell phone chimes with an incoming text, but I don’t lower my gun long enough to check it.
My guess is that it’s Nash letting me know he’s here and not to shoot his ass, but I won’t risk myself to make sure.
Plus, I haven’t decided yet if I’ll shoot him.
He’s late and I fucking hate late people, especially when it puts me out.
The door opens, and I recognize the side profile of his face as he steps inside.
From my position, I see more movement outside, and the flash of men in full swat gear makes me grind my teeth.
It’s no fucking surprise that those motherfuckers are here.
Those do-gooder assholes from New Mexico have nothing better to do than stick their fucking noses where they aren’t invited.
In a battle one-on-one, I have no doubt I could best any given one of them.
As a group, Cerberus is fucking unstoppable, and not to be fucked with.
“Seriously?” Nash growls, his eyes landing on the three men tied up across the room.
Relief washes over their faces in the flickering candlelight. The idea to shoot each fucking one of them just to prove them wrong hits me, but that’s something a psycho would do. I don’t think Alani would be impressed with me if I did that.
I step closer to Nash, knowing just how badly this evening can go with the devil dogs outside, inching closer to the house.
“If I’d known I’d end up on the wrong side of Cerberus, I never would’ve agreed to this shit,” I growl at Nash.
“Just put your gun away. They’re pissed at what you’ve done, but they’re not to the point of blowing your head off just yet,” Nash replies. I’ve yet to decide if he’s brave or just fucking stupid.
I lock my eyes on Nash, and in the next breath, the house is being invaded, a half a dozen men swarming inside like something you only see in movies. They do it with the ease of practice, perfecting what would take cinematographers many takes to accomplish.
I snarl at the man who put me in this fucking situation as I lift my hands over my head.
“Pretty fucking stupid,” Kincaid growls as he steps in closer to me.
His rifle isn’t at the ready but angled down.
“I should shoot you where you stand,” he growls.
I nod because he’s fucking right. He probably should, but I also know him to be merciful where he shouldn’t.
The proof was in Mexico just a few days ago.
The man can annihilate the bad guys and somehow still manage the softest touch for the victims. His whole fucking team is an anomaly, and I despise each and every fucking one of them for it.
Why do some people have the ability to control that part of them and others, like me, get eaten by the darkness?
I look over Kincaid’s shoulder, a wave of something unexplainable washing over me when I lock eyes with Alani.
She should be speaking with her sister, crying because she’s been rescued, but instead, her full attention is on me.
I want to swim in it, to breathe it in and let it settle and burn in my lungs like thick smoke.
There isn’t a hint of the fear that should be there, and the absence of it makes it very dangerous for her. The challenge is undeniable, and my need to gobble it all up becomes a living breathing thing inside of me.
Her eyes narrow to slits for less than a breath, and then the tears pool over her lashes. I lick my lips, wanting to taste their saltiness on my tongue.
I’d consider the sight of them a reward, but then I catch the wink.
It stops me in my tracks, Kincaid’s voice fading into nothing as I watch her.
She’s purposely provoking me, and that knowledge settles deep, invading places I know it will be very difficult to pull her from. She feels like no less a part of me than my skin as I turn to walk away.
Staying in that house with her would cost me my life because I know there’s no way anyone from Cerberus would allow me to get within ten feet of her, and I can’t show her my monsters if I’m dead.
Another time, I vow in my head as I leave.