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With swift brutality, I swing my arm. The crack of his nose breaking is music, the bright spray of red immediately satisfying.
"If you ever put her in danger or disrespect her again, I will kill you next time, Alessepo," I warn him, my voice cold. "So fucking slowly, you'll spend days begging for death before I let you have it." I wrap my hand around his throat, yanking him up until his eyes are level with mine. "And getting to you is fucking child's play for a motherfucker like me. There is no hole deep or dark enough to keep you from me."
He gurgles, his eyes bulging as he fights to breathe. For the first time since I entered his room, fear sweeps through his gaze. For the first time, he knows exactly how he made her feel.
Good.
I hold him for a moment, my hand a vise around his miserable throat to ensure the lesson sinks in, and then I drop him.
He's still gasping for breath when I stride from the room, leaving him groaning in the dark.
Killing him would have been so fucking easy, but it'd chain Karina to him in ways that can't ever be undone. I intend to break those chains, not forge new ones. That's the future she deserves—one free of this motherfucker and the pain he's caused her.
If I have to dismantle the entire goddamn police department to make it happen, so be it.
Chapter Eight
Karina
Coda's mouth is dangerous, his taste an addiction that lures me deeper every time his lips touch mine. I wrap my body around his, clinging to his broad shoulders as heat flashes to steam and the living room fades away around me. All that's left is him and his mouth.
I slip my hand between us, reaching for his cock. Greedy for it.
I'm nearly to heaven when his rough hand grasps mine with steely resolve, steering me away.
"Karina," he whispers, a warning and a plea.
"I need you," I plead, not above begging to get what I want—what I need. It's been a week since the accident, and he's barely touched me. Every single time things start heating up between us, he suddenly finds somewhere else to be. The worst of my injuries are healing—the scratches and bruises fading. Even the concussion isn't really a problem now. But he refuses to relent. "I'm not going to shatter, Coda."
But he's immovable—refusing to give in even though I feel how hard he is for me.
"Karina, please." His thumb sweeps my bottom lip in a gesture meant to soothe, but it only makes me burn hotter. "I can't—I won't hurt you."
"Too late," I whisper, feeling vulnerable with him in a way I never have before now. "You look at me like I'm made of glass, Coda. But I'm not. I'm here—flesh, blood, and wanting you."
He tenses as if waging some internal war, but he doesn't talk to me, and he doesn't kiss me again, either. And for the first time, doubt creeps in.
Maybe it's not that he thinks I'm made of glass. Maybe it's simply that he doesn't want me. Maybe the problem isn't him. It's me.
I wrench myself from his arms, tears welling in my eyes. He reaches for me, but I evade, quickly putting distance between us.
"Just leave me alone," I whisper. My traitorous voice cracks, shouting my misery into the room.
"Karina, talk to me," he urges, his voice soft.
But I'm done talking. I'm done begging. I'm done asking him to want me enough when he clearly doesn't. Whether it's fear or something else—it's winning. He's letting it win.
I ignore him, staring out of the window at the city below.
His hands, rough and unyielding, wrap around me from behind, pulling me up against his chest. His arms are like an iron bars, anchoring me in place. His heart pounds against my spine. This isn't a tender embrace, an apology. He's pissed.
Good. That makes two of us.
"Let me go!" I demand, thrashing within his grasp. But he holds me tighter, his strength absolute and terrifying in its gentleness.
"Never, so you might as well stop fucking ignoring me." The rough growl of his voice vibrates through me as he spins me in his arms to face him.
I try to avert my face to hide my tears, but he sees them anyway.
