She turned, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicked toward the alley, the dark corners she couldn’t see past.
Her mouth parted, a flash of something crossing her face—hesitation. Unease. A flicker of fear.
Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
The arrogance settled back in, her chin tilting up, her shoulders squaring.
She thought she was strong. Thought she was invincible.
But she wasn’t.
I moved.
Fast. Silent.
The second she realized what was happening, it was too late.
Her breath hitched, and I struck.
A hand over her mouth. A hard shove against the brick.
She fought. Of course she did. She always fucking fought.
Her knee shot up, aiming for my ribs. I twisted. She clawed at my arm, nails biting into my skin. I let her.
She wanted to fight?
I wanted her to.
It made this better.
She thrashed, her body heat pressing into mine, breath coming in fast, sharp bursts through her nose as she realized.
This wasn’t a threat she could talk her way out of.
This wasn’t a fight she could win.
This wasn’t a man who was going to back off.
I leaned in, inhaling the sharp tang of her sweat, the adrenaline in her veins, the raw, palpable rage rolling off her in waves.
“I should have taken you sooner.”
Her body tensed.
She heard that.
Felt it in the shift of my grip, the slow, deliberate way I adjusted, keeping her locked against the wall, her cheek pressed to the cool stone, her hands still fighting.
But this wasn’t a fight.
It was a hunt.
And she was mine.
I pressed closer, my mouth near her ear.
“You should’ve been more careful, Evie.”
