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“What are you waiting for, Tor? Do it.” He presses the razor against the thumping pulse in his throat. “Do it.”
The blade is right there. A paper-thin line of blood wells against his tanned skin, but still, I can’t bring myself to slice it over his neck. On a smirk, he shifts, flipping me onto my back in one swift move and caging me beneath him.
“You want to kill me, but you can’t do it.” He pins my hand with the razor to the floor above my head. “Because you’re not like me,” he whispers, dropping his lips to my neck. Warm breaths fan over my skin, a warning disguised as a caress that sends a heady blend of fear and misplaced curiosity careening through me. “Are you, Tor? You’re not anything like me. You’re good and pure…” He shifts on top of me, presses his knee between my thighs while his calloused fingers trail from my wrist down my arm toward my neck.
I expect him to strangle me, but instead, he threads his fingers through my hair. The way he’s looking at me like he’s trying to decide whether to fuck me or kill me has something raw and primal rising to the surface. It’s not rational or sane, but the prison of his hard body has all thoughts of killing him or being killed by him dissipating. It feels like I can’t catch a good breath, like I’m drowning in his presence, unable to focus on anything by the friction of his knee between my legs.
His hold on my hair tightens while his lips linger over mine—a sweet threat I want him to voice. “Why are you breathing like that, doll.” He leans in close enough I can taste the whiskey on his lips. “Scared?”
“Should I be?”
“Definitely.” That silent vow crackles in the air between us, sucking me in like a helpless victim. Jude feels like a rare, exotic liquor that I would never dare sample in my normal life, and I’m drunk on the thrill of him, unable to fight this foreign sensation.
I’m barely in control of my own body. It’s like there is some imaginary thread tilting my chin up and making my lips seek out his. I almost lose it when his mouth brushes mine. His teeth sink into my bottom lip on a deep groan, and it’s a dangerous taste of poison that sends lust burning through me like a toxin. His warm lips hover over mine, and it’s all I can do not to kiss him.
He tugs on my hair. “Not so innocent now, are we?” And God help me; when he grinds against me, I shift against him on instinct, and I hate that I like it. “You have no idea the things I’d do to you…” He presses against me hard and long, his teeth once again gripping my lip, and just when I’m ready to claw at his clothes, he shoves away from me like I’m fire and he’s been burned.
His silhouette moves across the dark room, and seconds later, the bedroom door opens and closes. It’s not until he leaves, taking the crackling tension with him, that the shame cuts through my fogged mind. I wanted him. I liked his lips on mine, the unrelenting grip of his hands on my hips—the same hands that held a gun to my head. What the hell is wrong with me?
_____
A loud bang and a “Get the fuck outta his bed, bitch” startles me awake the next morning. That’s not Jude. And it’s absolutely not Caleb.
I scramble off the mattress just as an older man with a scar across his cheek lunges toward me. He latches onto my wrist and yanks me against him. “Jude asked me to handle you while he’s gone. Now move it.” Handle me. I knew Jude’s crisis of conscience would only be temporary.
I’m shoved toward the door, where I stumble into the hall. I should have killed Jude and ran when I had the chance because the look on this man’s face suggests there will be no mercy for me. His grip on my arm tightens as we pass through the house, down the stairs, and into a room at the back of the basement. He yanks at a cord dangling from the ceiling. The fluorescent light flickers to life with a hum, casting a dim glow over the bare, concrete room. I turn to run, but the guy grabs me by the hair. I scream, fighting with everything I have as I beg for someone to help, although I know no one will. This is Jude’s house, his men…
The man’s arm winds around my neck, constricting like a python until I can’t breathe. “Do you work for Tom Campbell?”
I have no idea who he’s talking about, but I also get the feeling it doesn’t matter what I say right now. “I don’t know who he is.”
