7. Jersey
JERSEY
Blood sprays across my face, a scream tearing from my throat as my attacker collapses lifelessly on top of me. His weight barely settles before it's being ripped off and tossed aside.
"I had it handled," I wheeze, pushing up to my elbows and scrambling backwards in the dirt.
"Clearly," Repo Man deadpans, shoving up the sleeves of his hoodie and resetting the overturned trash can.
I brace a hand against the wall, my pulse pounding in my ears as I drag myself to my feet. "Go play hero somewhere else," I growl.
"If he killed you, I wouldn't get paid," he replies flatly, his face void of emotion as his inked forearms fold across his chest.
A strange sense of relief washes over me with the knowledge that he's not here to kill me. That doesn't mean The Registry won't when he hands me over, though. If I can just keep him at arm's length long enough to catch my breath, I can make it to the salvage yard…
I think.
I fucking hope.
Mack– the guy who bought my necklace– said if anyone can get me out of the city, it's the woman who owns the salvage yard.
"How chivalrous of you..." I trail off, squinting at the patch on his vest. "Riggs."
Velcro rips as he pulls out a set of restraints from his vest. "Due to the default of your Guardian, The Registry has issued a reclamation order for you,” he states, his icy blue eyes locking with mine. “I'm here to collect."
"So, uh…" I clear my throat, tracing a hand along the hem of my sweatshirt. "Does that pickup line usually work for you?" My fingers brush over my back pocket in search of the letter opener. Still there.
Without a word, he advances, one deliberate stride bringing him closer.
Too close.
I quickly match it with one of my own backwards, refusing to surrender the distance between us.
"While your bubbly personality makes that seem tempting, I've got to see a guy about a thing." I gesture vaguely behind me as if that explains everything, taking another step back.
"Don't," he warns, his voice low and even.
The threat is clear in his tone, but I'm still latching desperately onto the hope that if I just keep moving, I can get away. My boots scrape against the concrete as I pivot and take off at a dead sprint.
Unlike last time, he follows.
Each one of Riggs' long strides erases two of my own. His boots hammer against the pavement behind me, matching the frantic cadence of my heartbeat as the buildings crowd in around me until there's no way out.
Dammit.
God fucking dammit.
The world tilts, fear garbling my thoughts as I rush through an unfinished doorway and nearly bust my ass when my toe snags on a pile of bricks.
Mack's directions jumble together in my brain as I wind past scaffolding and stacks of lumber before darting towards the first door I see.
I fling it open, but it catches halfway, brutal strength slamming it shut.
In one jarring motion, he twists me around to face him. I choke on a gasp as my spine rams against the metal door.
Riggs erases every inch of space between us.
My blood runs cold with dread as he cages me in, bracing a thick, corded forearm above my head.
Shadows cling to his features, stripping away any illusion of humanity and leaving me caught in the predator’s grasp.
My eyes trace the tattoos snaking down his neck, disappearing under the collar of the black hoodie stretched across his broad fame.
I don't know what's heavier– the weight of his icy glare or his body pressing against mine.
The corner of his mouth twitches as he drawls, "Now what?"
Now or never.
With a stilted breath, I hook the letter opener from my back pocket, driving it in his side.
Something dangerous glints in his blue eyes as his hand flies out and clamps around my wrist, my bones grinding together beneath the pressure of his grip.
I grit my teeth with a wince, struggling against his hold, and there's barely a snag in the material of his hoodie as the blade clatters against the cement.
"That's it," he chuckles, the sound cold and callous as it scrapes from his throat. "Keep fighting, little stray."
Lowering his head, Riggs' warm breath ghosts across my skin as he drags my hand between us and presses it against the hard bulge in the front of his pants. "It only makes my dick hard."
I choke on a gasp and try to wrench my hand back, but the more I fight his grip, the harder he pushes his erection into my palm. My traitorous pulse ratchets higher as every sharp contour of his body crushes against mine.
"Borrowed courage," he murmurs, smoke and whiskey coating his words. "That's all adrenaline is. But when it bleeds away and you hesitate..."
His other hand shoots up and wraps tightly around my throat. A broken whimper parts my lips as he flexes his fingers, crushing my windpipe.
"That's when I'll ruin you."
My eyes go wide, panic surging through me as I buck and claw, trying to break his hold.
Oh god... he could kill me.
The sick realization settles in. This isn't just what he does, it's who he is. A man built for violence. Forged by it. Thriving in it. He's a monster… but that doesn't stop the knot in my stomach from tightening.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
A sheen of sweat coats my skin, hot tears pricking at the back of my eyes. Then his grip loosens, drifting to my chin. My chest heaves as fresh oxygen rushes into my lungs. I cough and sputter on every greedy gulp of air I swallow.
The rough pad of Riggs' thumb traces along my bottom lip as he watches with quiet satisfaction while my vision swims and I blink chaotically trying to focus.
I need to get out. I need… fuck. I don't even know what I need.
My jaw snaps, teeth sinking deep into the flesh of his thumb. He doesn't react, doesn't even flinch as the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. Instead, he pushes his thumb in deeper, his knuckle raking between my teeth as he forces it to the back of my throat until I gag.
And then… he laughs.
He. Fucking. Laughs.
Riggs pulls back, admiring the marks I left on his skin, and I seize the half-second of distraction. My fists bang against him as I twist and shove, managing the tiniest of sidesteps. But before I can slip around his hulking form, his foot juts out and catches mine, pitching me forward.
I slam face first into the concrete with a strangled scream, pain rippling through my body and stars bursting behind my eyes. My palms splay beneath me, and with every last bit of energy I can muster, I push myself up.
His boot rams down onto my spine before I even make it an inch, and with a bone-rattling thud, I drop. Air whooshes from my lungs as he sinks more of his weight onto me, pinning me against the cement.
"Stay."
I don't move.
I can't.
The world lurches around me, every last nerve ending screaming in pain as I lie there on the concrete, reluctantly accepting my fate.
"Good girl," he rasps, pressure dissolving from my back as he lifts his foot. "Now roll over."
"Fuck you," I hiss.
How dare he treat me like a dog?
As if I could be so lucky. Pets get affection, while Assets get used.
Heat sears across my skin from embarrassment, but it's more than that. Something else weaves among it– something deeply warped. Something I don't have the slightest capacity to start to deal with.
"Borrowed courage," he murmurs.
The toe of his boot jams into my side, sliding beneath my gut and rolling me onto my back.
“Fuck you,” I repeat, glaring daggers up at him.
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Only good girls get fucked."
My hands brace beside me and sheer spite pushes me up onto my elbows. "I'm not your bitch."
"You're right." He crouches down, elbows resting on his knees. "You're The Registry's."
He may as well have kicked me in the teeth.
I swallow past the lump in my throat, trying to dislodge the solemn feeling that threatens to stroke his ego.
My eyes narrow as I meet his gaze, and a glob of red-tinged saliva lands on his face as I spit.
It's unnerving how calm he seems. A feral grin splits his face, tongue darting out to lick up the glob.
Then his tattooed fingers curl beneath my chin. "Open."
His brow twitches as I purse my lips defiantly.
With one cruel and calculated movement, he collars my neck, yanking me up to my feet and smashing me against the wall. The impact forces my mouth open, and I flinch as the glob of spit and blood lands on my tongue.
Tears blur my vision as I stare up dumbfounded at those blue eyes and messy blond hair, hearing the unmistakable sound of Velcro ripping apart.
"Maybe, I'll buy you at auction," he says as he pulls a syringe from his vest, the sharp tip piercing into the column of my neck. "If they don't slaughter you first."
He depresses the plunger, sending white-hot heat prickling across my skin. My mouth hinges open with a silent scream, then every ounce of strength drains from me as the world fades to black.