Page 34 of Mile High Heist

I shook my head.

He paused, then, as if something else had occurred to him. His weight shifted, not freeing me, but allowing just enough oxygen to stay conscious.

To stay talking.

“The Duchess?” His voice held a tremor of something. Fear? Awe? My poor, oxygen-starved brain couldn’t compute it. “Are you one of hers?”

His hand slipped, gripping my hip exactly like Jax. I almost sobbed. Jax.

God, what would he think if he knew what I’d done? If he saw me like this?

He would kill Peter, and then he’d probably kill me. I pushed up again, trying to buck him off. He overpowered me effortlessly, like I was nothing. Like I was barely a person.

Peter dragged his tongue over my ear. “You will think of your father,” he whispered. “You will think of him, and you will scream his name when I’m pounding inside you—”

No. No no no.

I arched forward and sunk my teeth into his wrist. He hissed and jerked back. I spun around, ripping down my skirt.

Peter nursed his arm, his face completely blank.

Then, a slow, awful smile curled his lips. “You’re going to regret that.”

10

OLIVIA

Ialready regretted everything.

From the moment I woke up this morning, to the last ten seconds, I was a big weeping ball of regret.

Peter’s smile promised violence. He stood in front of the door, blocking it. There was a drop of blood on his shirt. I’d broken his skin. Stupidly, I licked my lips. His blood tainted my tongue.

“You are going to tell me who you are,” he said, still cradling his wrist. “Or I’m going to fuck it out of you.”

“I’m nobody,” I said, swallowing. I kept my voice even, despite the tears burning behind my eyes. He wanted a victim. Playing along wouldn’t help me—it would just excite him, as evident by his still-raging erection.

“You’re a bad liar.”

“This was a mistake,” I said, backing up against the counter, my hands searching blindly behind me for a weapon. “I don’t know who you think I am. But I’m not into this scene. I’m not—I don’t—"

My tears broke, despite my best efforts. No matter what he did, I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him about Jax and his crew.

He was going to hurt me either way.

My fingers nudged the bottle of hand soap just as he lunged. He went straight for my throat. I twisted out of his reach and aimed a kick at his balls. He dodged it easily, bouncing back with an amused smile.

He was a trained fighter, a former fucking CIA agent.

I didn’t stand a chance.

He knew it. I knew it. But it wouldn’t stop me fighting like hell.

I launched the hand soap at his head. He caught it in his hand like a tennis ball.

Then he stepped forward, slowly, without urgency, like we had all the time in the world.

“I’ve never killed a blonde before,” he said conversationally. “Red heads and brunettes, plenty, but never one like you. It’s a shame I can’t draw it out. See you on the inside first.”