Chapter 13
GRAHAM
She actually thinks I let her go.
The thought alone brings a chuckle to my throat as I sit in my SUV, parked across the street from that pathetic excuse for a motel.
I didn't let her go.
I simply opened the door to show her just how wide, how endless, and how inescapable my cage truly is.
I wanted her to realize that every single door in this city is locked to her except mine. I was waiting for her to crawl right back into my waiting arms.
But then...
I saw him.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens until the leather groans. I watched through the windshield as she ran down those stairs. I watched her throw herself at him. I watched her hug him—hug him with a desperation that belongs to me.
I followed his car through the city traffic. My hyper-fixated eyes were glued to the rear window of his vehicle, watching her as she talked to him the entire fucking car ride, spilling the secrets of her torment into ears that aren't mine.
And suddenly, I am not so fond of those volatile things called “feelings” that I spent my entire miserable life wanting to experience.
Because the jealousy that hits my chest isn't like anything I have ever felt before. It is like a horde of rabid, starving demons actively eating away at my intestines. The fury is so hot and suffocating that I feel like I am literally going to spit boiling blood onto the dashboard.
She is mine.
Fucking mine.
She was supposed to run to me. She was supposed to run out of options and realize I am her only goddamned savior. I am the one who orchestrated her ruin just so she would run to me.
Not him.
Me.
Me.
Fucking me.
And now she is inside his apartment.
It won't be long.
I force myself to wait, counting down every second until exactly midnight.
Midnight means fewer eyes on the street.
I reach into my glove box, pulling out my handgun.
I’m driven by a psychotic, possessive trance.
I pick up the silencer, slowly twisting it onto the barrel, the rhythmic click-click-click doing nothing to calm me down.
Using a key fob my security team procured within the hour, I slip past the building's front locks with ease. I pick the lock to his apartment door, ready to hunt through the bedrooms.
But it appears the bastard is incredibly lucky tonight.
The apartment isn't dark.
A small lamp illuminates the space.
And there she is.
Maya is sitting on the edge of the couch, a glass of water in her hands.
The moment the door nudges open, her head snaps up.
Her terrified eyes lock directly onto mine, the glass slipping from her fingers and shattering against the floor.
Before a single scream can leave her throat, I am across the room.
I grab her by the waist, slamming my palm over her mouth to muffle the sound.
"Shh," I whisper against her ear, the barrel of the silenced gun pressing right beneath her chin. "Don't make a sound. I'm just here to clean up the trash."
The second she sees the direction of my gaze shift toward the closed bedroom door down the hall—William’s room—she breaks down.
She begins to fight me with a strength she didn't even use when her sister attacked her.
"No! Graham, please, no!" she whimpers beneath my hand, tears flooding her face and wetting my palm.
I tear my hand away from her mouth, and she immediately drops to her knees at my feet.
"Please, not William! Please! He has nothing to do with this! All he wanted was to help me! He's just my friend, Graham, please don't hurt him!"
The moment she begs for his life, every single fuse in my consciousness blows. A white-hot static fills my vision, and I swear to God I can actually hear steam hissing from my ears.
If I don't calm down this exact second, I am going to torch this entire building to the ground with everyone inside it.
"Stop begging for his life, Maya," I growl in a demonic rasp.
My polished shoe comes down beside her trembling fingers.
"You are pissing me off. And when I am angry... I get incredibly thirsty for blood."
"I'll do anything!" she gasps as she scrambles up from the floor. "Anything, Graham! Just stop!"
She reaches up, grabs the lapels of my suit jacket, and pulls herself onto her tiptoes.
And then, she kisses me.
Her lips press desperately against mine.
I know exactly what this is.
I am a master of manipulation.
I know she is only doing this to spare that bastard's life.
I know she is sacrificing her mouth just to keep his heart beating in the next room.
But fuck...
I still enjoy it.
The taste of her—even mixed with her tears and the salt of her terror—is a drug straight to my nervous system.
My eyes roll back, the rage in my head coating itself in euphoria. My hand flies to the back of her neck, locking in her hair and deepening the kiss until she whimpers.
She pulls back a fraction.
"I'll go with you," she whispers, entirely defeated. "I'll leave right now. Just... don't hurt William. Leave him alone. Please."
My thumb traces the wet line of her bottom lip.
Well... I'll take absolutely anything to have her.
Even if it means keeping that fucker alive.
I'll make the trade.
For now.
"Fine," I murmur as I slide the gun back into my waistband, my eyes never leaving her face. "He gets to live. But you belong to me now, Maya."
My teeth graze the sensitive skin of her earlobe, making her shiver.
"And don't worry about your little savior. I am going to make you forget that fucker in no time."