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“But you don’t get it.”
“And I don’t care, either,” he snaps.
I flinch but continue anyway, “You don’t know what it’s like, always having to prove myself and being the one who is ignored. Or worse, the person whose ideas are ignored until they come out of somebody else’s mouth, somebody who is taller and louder and a man.”
He yawns loudly. “Is there a point to this? Are you unburdening yourself? Clearing your conscience before I kill you?”
“I was only trying to prove myself.” This train of thought started as a means of gaining sympathy and maybe a little trust, yet now I’m really tearing up. The frustration I’ve fought against since the day I started at the academy wells up in my chest, tightening it, filling me with despair I usually keep in check. It’s unusual to allow myself to give in to it, but I don’t have a choice now that I’ve started. I can’t hold it back.
“If you think this is going to change my mind, you’re wasting your breath.” He steps up to the foot of the bed, only inches from where I shiver in this dark, cold room. “I’ve heard much more heartrending confessions from people I cared a hell of a lot more about than I do you. And they never help. So don’t bother with the sob story.”
“You should’ve let me step in front of the car.” I run a hand under my nose, pissed at myself for crying and hating him even more for being the reason why. “It would’ve been merciful.”
“I don’t do mercy.” I believe him, and the sick certainty makes me want to curl up and die. Either he’s going to use me as a fuck toy before discarding me, or he’s going to murder me straight out. What have I got to live for?
Yourself. The voice is small and weak but clear, nonetheless. I have to win. There has to be a way. I can’t swallow the idea that he’d go to all this trouble to keep me alive, only to turn around and kill me. That must be what he’s telling himself to justify going against the family.
I need to cling to that hope and never let go. Otherwise, I don’t know what will crush me first—the despair or disappointment in myself every time my body betrays me by reacting to his nearness.
He waits until the sniffling has stopped before speaking. “Lie down.” He’s softer now. Not gentle, but no longer murderous, either. New hope flickers to life in my chest and loosens some of the tightness. I might have gotten through to him, at least for now.
I peer up at him through my wet, snarled hair. He’s breathing harder, his lips parted, his nostrils flared. This sick fuck. Turned on by my misery.
But he’s not the only one with a problem once our eyes meet, and a blistering heat erupts in my core. What does that say about me?
“Is there a problem here?” He makes me flinch when he steps closer, then pulls back the blankets before grasping my shoulders. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understood?”
“Y-yes?” I choke out now that my throat has closed to the size of a pinhole.
“Is that a question, or are you agreeing?” I groan when the pressure from his hands turns painful. “Determined to push me, aren’t you?”
“No.” I doubt he hears me, not that I’m telling the truth. I was pushing him, seeing how far I could go. And now I know.
I regret it as his fingers bite into my shoulders. He shoves me back until I’m flat, struggling with the adrenaline pumping through my system and trying to regain my balance. He knocks the breath from my lungs when he lands on top of me. He’s breathing hard, glaring at me, his teeth bared in a snarl. I twist and turn, trying to fight him off of me, but that only makes him press his weight into me further.
“Don’t.” He sneers, grabbing both my wrists and pinning them with concrete force above my head. I wince at the force.
He looks me over as if he’s sizing me up, and the disdain he wears tells me he’s unimpressed. “I should have let that car flatten you. You fucked up everything for me. Why did you have to do that?”
I can hardly pull air into my lungs, with his weight nearly crushing me. “I wasn’t—”
“Like hell you weren’t!” Spit flies from his mouth and hits my cheeks. I turn my face, whimpering, wildly afraid that this is my last night on Earth. This is where I die, and no one will ever know what happened to me. I should have fought harder. I shouldn’t have made it so easy for him.
“Let’s get one thing straight.” His hand snaps to my jaw, turning my head so we’re eye to eye. He leans in close enough that our noses touch, and there’s not so much as a hint of heat or desire now. The only thing my body knows is fear. “Stop lying to me. You entered my life so you could destroy it. Enough of this ‘I was just doing my job’ bullshit. Understood? Say it. Tell me you understand,” he demands, his breaths coming heavier.
“I understand.” I can’t fight him when he has me pinned like this or talk my way out of it when I can hardly suck in enough air to remain conscious. All I can do is look him in the eye. He has stripped away my sense of security, my sense of who I am, and what I’m capable of. But he will not strip away my dignity.
No matter how he tries.
“I ought to fuck you to death,” he whispers. “Split you in half. At least I would get something out of this bullshit.” A slow, knowing smile stirs his finely crafted lips. “And don’t pretend the idea doesn’t do something for you, Detective.” He rolls his hips, forcing his covered erection against my mound, and I hate him for it because, oh, God, it feels good.
Like something I want.
No, need.
Nothing he’s said or done has lessened my insatiable craving for him. If anything, I want him more. Rather, my body does, heating, moistening, and melting against his firm, unforgiving muscles. My back arches before I know what I’m doing, and I shudder when my tight nipples brush his chest through our clothes. The impulse to spread my legs and welcome him is intense enough to make disbelieving tears well in my eyes.
I shouldn’t want this. I should scream, kick, claw, and spit on this monster. This killer. My flailing sense of self-worth pulls up the memory of him in his office, holding a hammer coated in blood. I cannot forget what he’s capable of.
