The silken sheets cling to my skin, an obscene contrast to the memories now flooding through my mind. I recall the hunt through the dark, the press of his fingers down my throat, the point of his blade skimming across my shoulder, and me—sobbing, writhing,begging—coming so hard I thought I might break in two.
My shoulder throbs and I rememberthat,too.
It’s what finally made me come like a fucking animal.
No, no, nononononono!
My body moves before my mind does, arms flinging off the sheet, panic screaming up my spine. Cold sweat beads under my knees, and my breath stutters, shallow and ragged.
I can’t lose control.
Ihaveto stay in control, even if it means tearing myself in half to do it.
But I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe?—
Breathe.
I focus on the word like it’s a lifeline.
Breathe.
For three full breaths, I hold still, collecting data. The lavish decor cloaks me in a blur of shadows and too much softness. The air is cool, faintly spiced with paprika.
A glass of water sits on the nightstand. So thoughtful, right next to where he probably laid me out like a doll.
Across the room: a matte black door, shut tight. Dark wood paneling, ornate chandeliers hanging above with crystals catching glints of light.
The clothes are not mine: a black T-shirt and leggings that cling like someone painted them on. No underwear, no socks.
You didn’t just like that, Giselle. You didn’t just come from being fucked with a knife, you came until you literally passed out.
My shoulder throbs, aching with the memory of that sharp edge against skin. The way Iobeyedhim, so perfectly still. All that after biting him in that evidence locker, left him bleeding, andthen made him come in my hand while he fucked me with the handle of a knife like he owned my body.
He does own it. You’ve been giving it to him piece by piece from the moment he carved “To Detective Cantiano” into that corpse and dared you to chase him.
I guess he dressed me in these clothes after. No idea whose they are. Could they be Rosa’s?
Holy shit!
Rosa.
Dakota.
Focus.
I can’t linger here in the filthy afterglow of being screwed to sleep by Roman. Can’t afford to drown in the part of me thatwantshim to do it again. Wants more blades. More breathlessness. Wants to come so hard she forgets her own name.
That part of me is getting bigger, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep her at bay.
Is it even worth the effort to try anymore?
Can I just… let go?
Let him have me, the way he so clearly does?
Focus, Giselle!
Outside these sheets, the chaos of the Bratva’s twisted game waits, and Dakota’s life hangs in the balance. I draw a breath deep enough to steady my shaking hands.
