Page 108 of Specter Bred

"Sir," I whispered. "It’s just us. Archer and Hayes. We heard you screaming."

His wild eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, they softened.

"Samantha," he whispered, the fear in his expression melting into something almost tender.

My chest tightened.

"I’m not Samantha, sir," I breathed.

He just stared through me as I moved closer, unseeing and lost somewhere else.

My thighs brushed the edge of his bed.

Slowly and very carefully, I reached for his arm, hoping the contact might ground him or pull him out of whatever hell he was trapped in. The second my fingertips touched the rough hair of his forearm, his eyes snapped wide.

The tenderness vanished as fear flooded back in hard.

Before I could react, he moved.

Fast.

A massive hand caught my wrist and yanked me forward. I hit the mattress hard, air punching from my lungs as he twisted over me, pinning me flat beneath him. His thighs locked around mine like steel bars.

"You’re not my sister!" he roared. "Who the fuck are you?!"

His hands found my throat and clamped down. I thrashed beneath him, clawing at his wrists, trying to break free, but his muscles bunched like stone. Abs flexed above me, sweat slicking over scarred skin. He was completely immovable. Pure brute force.

Behind him, Hayes lunged.

"Graves! Let her go!"

Sammy wrapped an arm around his neck and yanked back, trying to peel him off me.

Graves reacted on instinct. He drove an elbow backward. It smashed straight into Hayes’s mouth. Sammy hit the floor with a grunt, blood spilling instantly from his split lip, but the distraction bought me a second.

Graves’s grip loosened just enough for me to drag in a ragged breath.

"It’s me," I choked out. "Maeve... Maeve Archer."

Nothing.

His grip tightened again.

Panic clawed up my throat.

Then I forced out the only thing I could think of.

"Teacup."

That did it. His whole body went still. Like someone had flipped a switch. The wildness in his eyes blinked away, confusion settling in as he looked down at me, really looked at me.

And the position we were in...

He was straddling me.

Hayes’s oversized shirt had ridden up in the struggle, exposing my bare stomach and my black underwear beneath. Graves’s thick thighs still bracketed mine, his hands loose now but still resting against my throat.

Sweat rolled down the hard planes of his abs and biceps. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.