Chapter 42 Lucy
LUCY
My breathing was erratic, heart pounding. My lungs ached; the Nevada air Nitro just yanked me through sticking to my insides.
Not for the first time, I berated myself for not putting on the second suit after the first was ruined in the fire. Not that I knew where the hell it was. I hadn’t seen it or the suitcase since my arrival. Should I ask them? I warred with this question every time my body tried to rebel.
Again though, I rationalized that the light had already turned orange, and it would have turned green in no time.
But really? I just couldn’t face stepping into that layer of synthetic skin again.
It was its own kind of prison. If my lungs ached every now and then and my pulse lost rhythm, that was a small hurt to pay for a little freedom.
But I did need to get up the nerve to ask about my medicine bag.
When Xander had pulled me back to the bedroom by the heart necklace, I hadn’t seen it anywhere.
The only thing in the room—aside from the reek of smoke and the blackened floors and walls—was a camping cot.
Had it been burnt to a crisp? Were the men going to contact Eros for a new supply?
Nitro finally stopped dragging me, halting with zero warning inside a shadowy building.
As my eyes adjusted, indistinct outlines filled in, taking full shape.
The piles of broken props, mangled bikes, and promotional posters—featuring the Alphas in various stages of undress and bloody, bruised brokenness—stretched back into the shadowy corners of the high-ceiling space.
We were standing in a cleared area, the dusty floors sporting dozens of drag marks.
I wanted to pull my hand free, but Nitro's grip was firm, unwavering. He’d looked wild-eyed when he’d yanked me from the house, and I didn’t want to stoke that darkness. I knew it didn’t take much to set him off. He seemed to ceaselessly teeter between cocky jokes and cruel jabs.
My mind flashed back to last night.
To Xander’s yell of frustration when he’d discovered a shredded sofa cushion. To Nitro’s sarcastic quip about flipping the cushion over and it would be good as new. To Fallon doing just that and discovering the other side was also ripped to shreds.
“I’m so fucking sick of replacing shit, Nitro,” Xander bellowed. “This is getting goddamn ridiculous!”
“If you’re pissed about the couch, better not look at the Triumph’s driver’s seat.” Nitro was flipping his knife, gentle tosses that rotated it halfway, so he alternated catching it by the hilt or the blade.
“You didn’t touch my car,” Xander said the words slowly, each syllable pulled from his throat with surgical precision.
“Someone should touch it. Damn things been sitting in Kane’s garage for a fucking year. Can’t even see the paint color beneath the dust anymore.” Nitro’s tone was dismissive; he didn’t even look at Xander.
Xander who was getting angrier by the second.
Xander who suddenly stalked across the room, wrapped his hands around Nitro’s throat, and lifted him off the floor.
Xander, who ended up with a slash wound across his chest.
So, no. I didn’t want to push Nitro when he seemed unstable.
My hand was beginning to go numb in his grasp. Nervously, I moved my fingers. When I did, he stiffened. I shouldn’t have moved at all, even that tiny bit.
He seemed to come up for air now, giving himself a full body shake.
Then he pulled me again, slower this time, with less manic energy.
He brought us to a gigantic, wooden circle.
It stood upright; its surface patterned in concentric black and white rings that terminated into a red center.
I was confused at first… then I saw the four restraints built into the wood.
My stomach clenched, panic trying to rise.
“You are not tying me to that,” I breathed out, voice cracking.
"Lucy," Nitro rasped, releasing my hand only to jerk my body roughly toward him. I stumbled, caught off guard, my heart quickening. He caught me, crushing me against his body and simultaneously pushing me forward with flattened palms at the small of my back. “Don’t test me right now.” He closed his eyes, mouth drawn in a harsh line.
I bit my lower lip. A smart woman would find a way to fight, find a way to run. A smart woman wouldn’t be here to begin with, I thought self-deprecatingly. A smart woman would have listened to all the warnings.
Nitro wasn’t blinking. He just stared at me in an unnerving way, the weight of his gaze threatening to flatten me.
Though his eyes held a strange, heavy blankness, his hands radiated heat.
They sent tendrils of need through me. The nearness made me acutely aware of his scent, his carved muscles and our drastic size difference.
All the Alphas made me feel incredibly small, but for some reason, right now, Nitro was shrinking me further.
Further and further.
Until I was Alice.
Drinking the potion.
And regretting it the minute I couldn’t reach the key to unlock the door and escape.
“Let me go,” I managed to whisper, staring straight at his chest, not wanting to look at his mossy, warm eyes anymore.
“I’m not sure I can,” he admitted, voice full of gravel. But then he took a shuddering breath and pushed me away. Away… towards the target. My back hit the wood. Desire faded, replaced by anxiety.
“No.” That’s all I could say now.
“Lift your arms, Lucy.” Was his firm response.
When I hesitated longer than he liked, Nitro grabbed my right wrist and lifted my arm.
For some reason, I went limp, letting him treat me like a doll…
a plaything… something to be manipulated anyway he saw fit.
I stayed quiet as he worked, tightening the first leather strap.
Refusing to cry, I blinked back dampness and tilted my face, eyes moving to the ceiling.
I started counting the overhead lights. When I got to seven, a rush of déjà vu flooded through my system.
Only it wasn’t lights, it was ceiling tiles.
Rows and columns. Trying to distract myself from fear and uncertainty as I lay immobile, strapped to an operating table.
My left arm was up now, leather strap biting into my wrist. When Nitro’s hands fell away and didn’t immediately touch me again, I lowered my head, wondering if he wasn’t going to tie my legs.
My gaze collided with Nitro’s and, as if he’d been waiting for me to look at him, he dropped to the floor before me.
I inhaled sharply; he just wanted me to watch.
Nitro's calloused hands clamped around my ankles with bruising force, yanking my legs apart with a jerk that made the wooden target creak behind me.
My eyes widened in alarm, pulse hammering against my throat as he knelt on the ground before me, his expression predatory.
His moss-green eyes never left mine—a challenge sparking in the depths of his black pupils, almost daring me to protest. And then his rough fingertips began a deliberate journey up my left leg.
He traced a burning path over the delicate skin of my calf, then kept moving higher and higher, until he reached the top of my inner thigh.
His hand lingered there, thumb making small, possessive circles just inches from where I felt most vulnerable.
A shiver ran down my spine as he pushed dangerously close to my intimate regions.
My inner Omega stretched toward him, recognizing something she wanted.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe past the swelling, overwhelming need.
Heat warmed my lower belly, and my scent swirled heavily, falling to blanket over Nitro.
When it hit him, he inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes half closing.
The sight of him breathing me in made a rush of slick coat my womanhood.
When he looked up the line of my body once more, his fingers moved that fractional distance to curl over my womanhood, cupping me as if I belonged to him.
I gasped in his Alpha scent as it clouded upward, wrapping around me.
Earthy layers of evergreen, clean soil, cedar, and beneath those notes were gasoline and the metallic taint of blood.
For a heartbeat, I lost myself in the cocktail of his natural cologne and the way his touch made my heart skip and my toes curl.
I forgot who he was and how he treated me.
For a blissful moment, Nitro’s slate was wiped clean, and I wanted him desperately.
I didn’t even care that he was wrapping the leather straps around my ankles and pulling them tight.
As I began to sway past the point of logic—my body screaming to touch him, mark him, mate him—Nitro abruptly stood. He gave my delicate regions a brutish squeeze, making me gasp both from pleasure and pain, and then he turned on his heal and moved away.
All I felt was confusion as I watched his back grow further away.
But then he turned to face me.
His mouth wrapped by a wicked smile.
My stomach flipped.
As he unsheathed a knife and flicked it in my direction.
The blade sliced like lightning through the air, and I closed my eyes rather than see death coming.
I felt a whoosh of air by my cheek. Seconds later, a telltale sting and bubbling dampness.
My lashes flashed apart, and I glared in disbelief at Nitro, pure rage flooding my veins. I must have been out of my mind for entertaining, even for a damn second, the idea that this psycho was someone worth marking and mating. What was I thinking?
"Whoops,” Nitro covered his mouth with one hand, feigning surprise. “An inch to the right and that would have done some real damage.”
“You’re a psychopath,” I snapped.
“A psychopath that got you oh-so-wet, Lucy-Loo.” He lifted his hand, pushed two fingers into his mouth, and winked. The bastard had the nerve to wink!
My heartbeat seemed to echo the pounding in my head, frantic thoughts slamming against my skull.
How could this be happening? I’d fought tooth and nail to reclaim my health and my agency.
Yet, here I was bound to this grotesque wooden target, a plaything for an Alpha’s perverse amusement.
I hated that I could still feel the heat of his grip lingering on my skin.
I hated how my body was still slick from his touch.
This awful man shouldn’t be able to ignite my deeper desires.
He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near me.
“Fuck you,” I spat, my voice trembling. Why couldn’t I keep my words steady? Why did I have to sound so damn pathetic?
He crossed his arms; the evil smile still plastered across his face. “Might be a little hard while you’re strapped down.” His eyes roved the length of my body, gaze darkening. “Target practice first, fucking later.”
I wasn’t sure what emotions were assaulting me—the burning in my belly felt like anger and arousal mashed together, the din in my head smacked of confusion and doubt, the space directly over my heart felt like a tiny seed of certainty desperate to grow.
I latched onto the rage; it was the easiest feeling to face.
“Just wait until I get out of here,” I challenged, gritting my teeth against the leather digging into my skin. “I’ll make you regret this.”
A dark chuckle, low and dangerous, rumbled from him. He dropped his arms and moved towards me. He didn’t stop walking until he was inches from my body. Then he reached toward me. Despite my best efforts, I winced. And he fucking enjoyed that, the awful grin stretching wider.
His fingers wrapped around the blade he’d thrown.
He pulled it out with a quick jerk. Then he pushed the flat side of the blade under my chin, tip pointing dangerously towards my throat.
“Let me let you in on a little Nitro secret, Lucy. The more you fight, the more I enjoy it. Foreplay at its goddamn finest.”
“You’re sick.” My voice sounded feeble. I really was pathetic. I really was the perfect target.
“And you, lovely Lucy,” his other hand reached out, fingers slipping just beneath my heated, vulnerable place. He pushed upward, against the thin sweatpants. Through the cloth, he parted my lips. I gushed for him, fresh waves of desire pulsing from my body. “Are still slick for me.”
He was right.
I wanted him, even though I shouldn’t.
So, who was the real psycho?