Flustered, Lyle shifts from foot to foot and white-knuckles the baton still gripped in his right hand. “But, ma’am, I got my orders. Atticus don’t take kindly to clients.” Then to me, “Ain’t that right?”
“Fuck off, Lyle,” I drawl.
Hate to admit it, but he’s right. Hell no, I don’ttake kindlyto the rich bitches who come here to rape me. So far, six have been brave enough to buy me for the night. Six too many. Four were married. One was barely above legal age. And one woman was so old, I took it easy on her, worried I’d crack her brittle bones.
So much for me being heartless.
My role as an enforcer for the Unholy may make me a killer, but as a rule, I don’t hurt the innocent. None of us do. And I’veneverput my hands on a woman in anger. Full stop. Abigale Shaw raised me with respect, but I’m hanging on to my humanity by a thread. A frayed thread. Came alarmingly close to going psycho on the last woman who willingly—stupidly—had herself locked in this cell with me. Don’t know how much longer I can be raped and not push back, though.
“Not a request.” Her words are three bullets that strike their target.
Lyle bows his head, muttering, “The boss ain’t gonna appreciate this.”
Who the hell is powerful enough to contradict Crane’s precious rules?
The question gets answered a second later when she emerges from the shadows, a queen among commoners.
Sonofabitch.
I roll my eyes because, of course, it’s her.
The woman in white from last night’s event.
I’d spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep to avoid the liquid agony scratching against my nerves. And she was there with me the entire time, in my dreams, an angel who’d helped me forget—albeit temporarily—that I’m living in a nightmare. Shit, if I’d met her anywhere else, I’d be all over her. Peeling off her brown dress to discover what secrets lie hidden beneath the drab fabric. Her sexy voice all breathy in my ear as I use every part of me to light her the fuck up.
Shame the reality of her is such a disappointment.
Most women would blend into the background with their hair tied in a knot at the nape of their neck and without a drop of makeup on their face. Not her. The woman is a hauntingly exquisite work of art, with full pink lips and smooth, porcelain skin. She’s sculpted bone structure with a perfect nose and incredible green eyes. The defiant march of freckles across the bridge of her nose only adds to her beauty. She can go ahead and dress herself like someone’s grandmother, but nothing can diminish the force of nature buried beneath her cool exterior.
Again, I can’t shake the feeling that I know her face. Seen it before. The drugs still got their hooks in me making it impossible to pick through my memories to where the hell I’d know anyone connected to David-fucking-Crane.
Lyle looks about a breath away from making the sign of the cross as she marches toward him, her functional shoes clacking over concrete. His submissive reaction takes the edge off my anger. Oh yeah, you bet your ass I’m enjoying the hell out of this show. All I’m missing is a bowl of popcorn.
Her expression changes to one of perplexity, but her tone is pure ice. “And who is going to tell him, I wonder? Surely, not you, Lyle. You may be a pretentious worm, but I’ve never pegged you as stupid.”
Bravo.
If I had the energy, I’d give the little general a standing ovation.
Lyle throws me serious side-eye. I antagonize him with a wink. I’ll pay later for the front-row seat to his humiliation, but man, I wouldn’t miss this for anything.
“I’m concerned for your safety, is all. I’ve seen what Atticus can—”
Her humorless laughter silences Lyle midsentence. “He’s wounded and on ketaphrin. What harm can he possibly do to me in his condition?”
I lift a brow at her ridiculous question. She’s so small, so delicate, I can snap her neck with one hand, and yeah, I won’t hurt her, but nor I will be a willing participant in my rape. She has to work for it, and I sure as shit don’t plan on being delicate with her. The women who came before her left worse for the wear—except for the older lady. They came looking for an animal, and that’s exactly what I gave them.
She’ll get the animal, too.
“I know, ma’am, it’s just—”
“This conversation is finished.” Her voice is so cold, I swear the temperature in the cell drops at least ten degrees. “Test me, and I promise you’ll be this man’s next opponent.”
The blood drains from Lyle’s face. His eyes widen, and he slaps a palm against the wall to hold himself steady. “My apologies, ma’am, I meant no disrespect.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She clasps her hands together, her expression serene—as if she didn’t issue Lyle a blatant death threat. She squares her shoulders and stands straight as a rod. It’s a miracle her spine doesn’t snap. “Please unlock the cell.”
Lyle fumbles like a little bitch as he pulls at the retractable key ring hooked to his belt. “If anything happens to you—”
