I don’t answer. Just walk out.
Back in the hall, the mansion’s quiet again.
I can hear faint thuds from the closed door down the hall. Lexi hasn’t given up yet.
I light a cigarette, lean against the wall, and exhale slowly. The smoke curls toward the ceiling, disappearing into shadow.
Then I hear her start to scream.
Not panic. Not fear. Rage.
Atticus must be having his fun with her.
I close my eyes, take another drag.
She’s more than leverage. She’s a goddamn ticking bomb.
And I’m holding the fuse.
30
Lexi
“Stay the fuck away from me!”
My voice bounces off the stone walls, too loud for the space, echoing back at me like mockery.
Atticus only laughs. Slow. Taunting. The sound of a predator who’s already cornered his prey and knows it.
He steps toward me. I step back. The bed’s between us—the only barrier I have—and I keep it that way.
I’m trembling, and it’s not from fear entirely. But from the memory that won’t leave me alone. Him pressed against me. The smell of his skin, the look in his green eyes, the weight of his body. This man is made of hard steel and if I let him get close, I’m going to enjoy whatever he decides to do with me.
The most fucked up part is that he knows it. I can tell by the way his eyes track mine, by the slight curl of his mouth. The flicker of lust behind those cold green eyes.
“You want me,” he says.
“Shut up.”
He tilts his head, grin razor-sharp. “Stop pretending you don’t. I can see it in your eyes.”
Because you’re disgustingly good looking. It’s surface-level.But I don’t say that, instead, I say, “Stay away from me.”
He moves faster than I expect. I spin, trying to put more distance between us, but he’s already in my space. His hand curls around my wrist as he drags me forward.
I try to twist out of his grip and fail. My feet stumble over themselves as he pulls me closer.
His breath ghosts across my ear when he whispers, “Got you.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “What the hell do you guys want with me anyway? I just want to go––”
He throws me onto the bed like I weigh nothing. My heart races. Jesus Christ.
I scramble across the sheets, trying to get to the other side, but he catches my ankles and yanks me down hard. The sheets twist around me. I kick him and curse him out, but he’s stronger. He pins my wrists above my head with one hand. The other braces beside my head, caging me in.
I stare into those eyes and feel like every nerve in my body is on fire. His eyes flick down to my chest, and I inhale, unable to handle the weight of his gaze. His jaw clenches and before he can touch me, the door flies open.
“Having fun, are we?” Revan’s voice slices through the tension.
