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I push down onto her cut, the newly formed scab breaking under my pad. A trickle of red blood runs a small river toward her eyebrow. I catch it, then bring my finger to my lips. She watches, expressionless, as I taste her wound.
I’m looking for a reaction. Of course, I am. But she doesn’t even flinch.
Fascinating.
Instead, she clears her throat and says firmly, “I should get that cut checked out.”
“I just checked it. You’re fine.”
“I meant by a doctor, not a psychopath.”
I chuckle. “You want to go to the hospital?”
She nods.
“Nice try,” I drawl, extinguishing the hope that flickers in her eyes. I lean back on the sofa, the exposed springs digging into my shoulder blades, and drink her in. She tugs on the sleeve of her oversized hoodie and drags it across her forehead. “You know,” I say, moving my hand to her thigh. It stiffens under my touch. “If you want to leave so badly, maybe you should beg.”
Her face instantly darkens, a reaction that fills me up with glee. The memory of her sinking to her knees so begrudgingly interrupts my thoughts at least once an hour. Fuck, I can’t wait for her to do it again.
The muscle in her jaw tightens. “You still wouldn’t let me go.”
I lean in. “Maybe, maybe not,” I rasp. “Why don’t you try and see?”
She leans in too, and it almost catches me off guard. The fury in her eyes is delicious, unwavering, and hot enough to burn the entire building down. I drink in every single drop. I’ve never had a man stand up to me so bravely, let alone a woman. It lights all of my nerve endings on fire.
She’s so close I can see the tiny freckles splattered across her nose. Smell the liquor on her breath. Feel the vibrations of her voice box when she speaks.
“I’ll never beg you for anything ever again, Donnacha Quinn,” she says acidly. “Not for my freedom and not for my life.”
I stoop a fraction to run the tip of my nose down the bridge of hers. I stop just millimeters away from the curve of her lip. It’d be so easy to claim them.
“Then perhaps you’ll die here, a caged little bird.”
Her laugh is so bitter I can almost taste it. “I promise you one thing. One day, I’ll walk right out of here, and nobody will stop me.” Cold air whips me as she withdraws, rising unsteadily to her feet. She staggers a few steps, her bare feet sloshing on my soiled rug. When she turns, her eyes are as dark and dangerous as a storm at sea.
And my cock is painfully hard.
“And once I walk out of here, I’ll come right back.” She sweeps in the direction of the window, her fingers brushing over the New York skyline. “And I’ll bring your pathetic little empire to the ground.”
And with that, she turns on her heels and stomps out of the room. A few seconds later, a door slams.
I chuckle into the silence, taking a swig of The Smugglers Club.
“Romy Daniels,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?”
