Page 162 of Villainous Rise

Then I was fighting, twisting in his grip, elbowing backward. My fist connected with something solid, his shoulder, maybe his jaw. He hissed but didn’t release me.

“Enough,” he growled, flipping me beneath him.

I bucked against him, sand grinding into my bare shoulders where his jacket had slipped. His weight pinned me, thighs bracketing mine, one hand capturing both my wrists above my head.

“I caught you, Sparks. Fair and square.”

“Nothing’s fair with you,” I spat back, still struggling.

His free hand moved to his throat, loosening his tie. The slide of silk against fabric sent a shiver through me.

I redoubled my efforts, thrashing beneath him with renewed fury. My knee jerked upward, nearly connecting with his groin before he shifted his weight to block me.

“Get off me,” I snarled, baring my teeth.

Cipher laughed, the sound dark and rich in the fog-muffled night. “Not a chance.”

I twisted my wrists in his grip, feeling the strength in his fingers.

“What’s wrong? The big bad Trueborn can’t handle a little resistance?” I taunted, watching his eyes narrow.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble,” he warned.

“Your cock seems to like my mouth just fine.”

I wrenched one hand free and reached between us, grabbing him through his pants. He was hard, straining against the fabric. A hiss escaped through his teeth as I stroked him.

“See? You’re not as complicated as you pretend to be,” I said, squeezing him. “Just a man with basic needs.”

Cipher’s hand shot down, capturing my wrist in a grip that bordered on painful. “Basic?” He laughed. “Nothing about what I want to do to you is basic, Annie.”

I opened my mouth to fire back another taunt when something caught his attention. His eyes fixed on my hand in his grip.

The engagement ring. The gaudy diamond glinted even in the dim light, obscenely large and ostentatious against my skin. For all our fighting and making up, we hadn’t discussed the part that had come between us originally.

Cipher’s eyes locked on the ring, his expression darkening. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something cold and analytical. He captured my hand, turning it as he examined the ring.

“This is wrong in every conceivable way,” he said, voice flat. “The band is 18-karat white gold, too soft for someone as active as you. The setting is a six-prong cathedral that would catch on everything you touch.”

I blinked, startled by the technical assessment. His thumb traced the edge of the diamond.

“The stone is 7.7 carats, at least four carats too large for your hand proportion. It’s a D-color diamond with VVS1 clarity, flawless to the point of being soulless.” He rotated my hand, studying the ring from different angles. “The cut is round brilliant and, while pretty, is the most generic, unimaginative choice possible.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I hadn’t expected this detailed critique.

“The height of the setting would make it constantly snag on your clothes and scratch your face when you sleep.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s a showpiece, not a ring meant to be worn by a woman who actually uses her hands.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a jewelry expert,” I managed.

“You should have platinum, not gold and a setting that sits lower on your finger. Something you could wear in a fight without it becoming a liability.”

The thought he’d considered what would suit me made my cheeks burn.

“The stone should be no larger than 2.5 carats, proportional to your hand. Maybe sapphire instead of diamond. Something with character, with depth.” His voice lowered. “Something that doesn’t scream ‘look at me’ but reveals its complexity only to those who take the time to truly see it.”

“This ring isn’t you, Annie. It’s what they think you should be—showy, decorative.” Cipher’s fingers closed around the ring. “It’s a collar, not a promise.”

He slid the ring from my finger. The weight of it, both physical and symbolic, lifted from my hand. Cipher didn’t even look as he tossed it into the fog, the diamond disappearing.