Page 12 of Poisoned Pawn
I know I’m not alone.
A hand latches onto my wrist as a second slides over my mouth, cutting off the imminent scream bubbling up from deep inside. Thick fingers on a calloused hand fit tightly, perfectly over the lower part of my face, gripping tight and pulling me back into a hard body.
“Shhhh,” he growls against my ear.
I begin to fight his hold on me, but his fierce grip on my wrist tightens painfully, causing a muffled whimper to stick in my throat.
“I applaud your fight and my dick thanks you for the welcome but stay fucking still.” The hoarse timbre of his voice stills me as delicious memories from two weeks ago flash through my mind. But that’s not possible. We didn’t exchange details not even our names. What the fuck is he doing here and how? My thoughts are cut off as he speaks again.
“Give me the knife,” he whispers.
His hand holding my wrist glides along my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps, before covering my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the knife. I don’t let go. I squeeze tighter, refusing to give it up.
A low, dark unhinged laugh rumbles over the shell of my ear. “You’re in no position to disobey me. In less than two minutes he’s going to be right fucking here and he won’t pause. So give me the fucking knife.”
A second of thought before sense and survival instinct take over. My fingers loosen on the knife barely a fraction, but he doesn’t miss it and has it ripped from my hand in the blink of an eye.
“Good fucking girl,” he purrs, but before his words permeate my brain fully and allow me to think about the delicious throb between my thighs, he spins me around behind him, turning sideways and pinning me to the wall with one hand wrapped around my neck.
My chest rises with every panted breath as I meet his eyes. Vivid blue orbs that reach into my soul and tear at the fear running through my entire body.
“Shhh,” he whispers, raising the hand holding the knife and placing a finger to his lips. His eyes rake over my body, drinking me in for a moment before he turns away, knife poised and ready to strike.
My fight or flight response is going mental right now as I watch him listening intently for any sign of the guy who is trying to kill me, his fingers flexing around my neck.
My mind is screaming at me to break free and run for my life while the rest of my body is ready to drop to my knees and worship at this man’s alter.
I know exactly what he’s capable of in the bedroom.
And he knows just how to get me off with nothing more than a flick of his fingers and a few perfectly said words.
But this fear and lust crashing together like Titans has me in a spin. A spiral so warped and twisted I can’t do anything but hold on and hope to still be breathing when it’s all over.
The faintest sound has my thoughts fracturing and him pressing his back against the wall, his rough fingers tighten around my neck, cutting off my breath.
My eyes widen as the barrel of a gun appears around the wall. I think he’s going to strike, but he waits…one…two…three seconds as the guy takes another step, revealing the hand holding the gun.
A flash of silver catches my eye as he slices through the man’s wrist causing a river of red and a guttural cry of pain. A clatter of metal hitting wood, then I’m yanked away from the wall by the tight hold on my neck as the squelching sound of a knife piercing through flesh silences my attacker.
Choking and spluttering follows as the fingers around my throat fall away and I suck in a deep lungful of air.
Oxygen permeates my starved brain, and I can finally begin to process what I’m seeing.
My attacker is on his knees with his hands at his throat as he tries desperately to stem the blood spilling from his neck. But it’s too much.
He’s not looking at me, but at the guy who just stabbed him, slicing his jugular like it was air. As his eyes dull, my blue-eyed saviour picks up the gun, checking the clip and safety before shoving it into the back of his jeans.
I hadn’t realised I was moving, slowly stepping backward away from them both, but my foot catches on the base of the back door as he turns his attention to me.
He sees my intention and stops me short with his next words.
“You run, I’ll catch you. I catch you, I fuck you.” Those icy blue eyes, alight with promise, home in on me, prickling over my skin as he looks on.
“You wouldn’t—”
“Try me…Star.”
My name on his lips has me spinning around and racing off down the garden. Utterly ridiculous because it’s a dead end. There is nowhere for me to go. But I knew that when I ran.