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“Either leave or you’re going to bear witness to what happens,” I speak with my back turned to the other two. When neither moves, I advance toward her with my knife clenched in my hand. “Suit yourself.”
“Mace!”
I ignore their protests.
I grip the front neckline of her dress and slice it open with my knife. The soft fabric falls apart down the center, parting like window curtains forced open. Her breasts bounce free, and she hurries to try to shield herself. I smack her hands out of the way, then wrench her around so that she’s facing the desk.
Normally, I’d be territorial—I’d care that there are other men in the room.
But right now, it’s all I can do to keep from hurting her. My vision’s clouded and any reason has been shut out by the violent rage inhabiting my body. I position her with her hands flat on the desk and kick her legs wide open. Her dress pools at her ankles.
Naked except for the little scrap of panties she has on.
“No wire,” I say, sliding my hands down the curvy outline of her body. I grope her pussy to ensure nothing else is hidden inside her panties.
She lets out a shocked breath and bows her head, her eyes clenched shut.
I’m sure this feels like a violation. She’s humiliated.
Too bad I don’t give a fuck.
It’s what she gets for crossing the Kings. For thinking she can come into our world under false pretenses and backstab us. I’m still not clear on what her ultimate goal was. She wants revenge for what she believes we did to her father. But just how did she intend on exacting that revenge? Has she been feeding information to law enforcement? The Feds?
The more I think about it, the more furious I become. The more my thirst to hurt her intensifies.
I cage her in where she is half bent over the desk. My blade presses against her throat and my lips rumble in her ear. “Tell me right now. Who have you been feeding information to?”
“No one, I swear!”
“Nobody? You expect me to believe that? You didn’t tell anybody a thing of what you heard, huh?”
“I swear on my life!”
I grit my teeth and hold the knife firmly against the delicate length of her throat. Almost hard enough to draw blood. “You better be telling the truth or you’re about to be bleeding out on the floor.”
“Then do it! Kill me,” she chokes out in strained emotion. “I’m all alone. No one’s going to come looking for me. You’ll get away with it.”
“Mace, brother,” Bush says from somewhere behind me.
“Get out,” I say. Then when neither moves, I roar. “I SAID GET OUT!”
Cash and Bush exchange ominous looks, conflicted over whether they should leave the two of us alone. After their silent deliberation, they listen to my order, turning around and walking out. The door drifts shut behind us.
I husk out a rough breath. The knife remains pressed into her throat. My body frames hers. She’s bent over the desk, her round ass pushed up against my groin, but in a way that couldn’t be further from sexual—her hands are flat on the desk and she’s trembling despite how tough she tries to sound.
“You lying to me, Singer?” I whisper gruffly into her ear. “You fucking ratting me out to the authorities?”
“Mace—Mason,” she quickly corrects herself. She gulps down a desperate intake of air. “I swear… I’m not, okay? I was acting alone.”
“You swear on your life?” I let the blade chaff its way up her throat, the sharpness of it dangerously close to nicking her skin and making her bleed. All I’d have to do is press a little harder. “You swear on your fucking life that you’re not the informant?”
“I swear! Please, you’ve got to believe me.”
Tears roll down her cheeks and she sputters out another shaky breath.
The sight almost pulls mercy out of me, making me want to let her go. It makes me hyperaware of the fact that I’ve got real feelings for this woman. She’s weaseled her way into my fucking freezing cold heart and I can’t bring myself to hurt her.
Not in the gruesome way I would anybody else. I’d have already run a knife through anybody else.
