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I slam one hand down on the open space between his legs as the other retrieves the hunting knife tucked in my boot—this being the exact reason why I always carry it when going over to a man’s house I’ve never met before.

I flick it open as my arm swings up, pressing the cold blade against his shaft.

“W-wait,” he stammers, releasing my hair, “Jesus Christ, what the fuck-”

Pathetic. One little knife and his whole tough guy demeanor falls. He’s practically shaking. Even his dick’s shrinking into itself.

I lock my gaze onto his, staring deep enough to carve caves. “Touch me again, and I’ll gut you starting at your balls.”

Another wave of panic flashes over Gideon’s face as he slowly pulls his arms up to the sides of his face in surrender.

I remove the knife, flicking it shut before sliding it back into my boot. I rise deliberately slowly, all while keeping my dead eyes pinned onto him. I grab my keys, helmet, and move towards the door.

“Crazy motherfucker,” is all I hear moving across his driveway before hearing the door slam shut.

I rub profusely at the scar on my neck as I approach my bike parked on the side of the dead and darkened road. The only sign of life being a flickering streetlamp above. I press at my temples, as though I could scour out the thoughts that promised clarity but left only mind fog, making the situation more infuriating than it already is.

What a waste of my time this was, and all the fucking preparations I did just to get my face shoved between his legs. Who the fuck does Gideon think he is?

Getting laid has never been an issue for me. In fact, I usually get what I want—more or less—and then fuck off. Sure, these men tend to underperform, especially after talking big game over the phone, but I’ve never been disgusted and appalled as I was with Gideon.

Maybe he just wasn’t my type.

My type being older men—which he was. I go for the kind I can play innocent with, let them believe I am naïve. I’ve had this strategy since I was seventeen. There was one relationship I might call serious, though the word hardly fits, and that was more than a year ago.

I stand in the cold, damp air, letting the breeze calm the ever-sizzling nerves under my skin, the worst part being that I am still fucking hard. The knife I pulled on Gideon surely didn’t help, but it wasn’t the act that turned me on, or him. It was the thought of how hard this little knife-play would’ve gotten Dante.

He’s a fucking masochist, and I love it.

I’m about to put the helmet on when I catch a matte black Jeep in my peripheral vision. My body stiffens as realization hits me too late.

Strong, firm hands grab my arms, twisting them behind my back. He locks them in place with one hand as the other grabs the nape of my neck, bending me forward and slamming my face onto the seat of my motorcycle. Before I can register what’s happening, I feel cable ties around my wrist. They cut deep into my skin as my body gets slung around.

Dante’s face fills my vision, but his usual erotic eyes and devilish smile are replaced with a haunting scowl. His eyes are so murderous I see hellfire burning within.

“You’re fucking dead, Summers,” he claims through gritted teeth. The tips of his fingers dig into the sides of my arm, and I feel the bruises starting to bloom. “I’m going to fucking kill you and throw your body into the fucking ravine.”

He—he’s not kidding.

Oh shit

Chapter 25

Adrian

“No, you won’t,” I challenge despite panic lighting my nerves on fire. We have endlessly fought and threatened each other, stuck in a loop of a never-ending game of foreplay, essentially, yet it was never filled with this amount of animosity.

Dante let out a devastating laugh, squeezing my arms tighter, and I wince.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he states clearly, “you’re dead to me, Adrian. I hope Gideon was at least a good fuck since it will be your last. And that bitch is next.”

Oh.

That’s what this is about.

“We didn’t fuck,” I state calmly and controlled, my gaze never leaving his.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me.”