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An unstoppable force.

His hands seek lower to grasp beneath my arms, then he lifts me above him. I’m a doll in his hands. Fragile and breakable. He keeps me suspended as he backs me against a shipping container. My calves hit the steel edge as I’m seated atop the unit. Grayson’s hands move to my thighs, hiking up my skirt an inch, before he finally breaks the kiss.

A pained expression creases his features. He doesn’t have to say a word, because I’m feeling the same constriction in my chest. The unbearable affliction of not enough.

This is the danger—our danger. Not the threat outside this warehouse; the FBI and police officials closing in on us. Not the judgmental world that would bow to hypocrisy to see us dead for our evils. No, nothing beyond these walls is powerful enough to really threaten either of us.

The danger lies in whether or not we’ll survive each other.

The overbearing desire to consume and consume and consume until we’re sated…but we’ll never be sated. We’re an endless abyss, demanding replete gratification, our disease our enemy. We’re afflicted with an insatiable hunger.

“My sick matches your sick,” I whisper to him.

Burning recognition ignites in the depths of his eyes. He lunges, wild and mad, seizing my wrists. He crawls over me, his knee spreading my legs, as he prowls my body like a feral animal. Every erogenous zone comes alive with the pledge of his cruel touch.

A sharp clatter draws Grayson’s attention, and he releases a low growl. He nips my lower lip, a promise simmering in the dark pools beneath his contacts. Then he releases me and stands. He situates the bulge in his denim before he turns to address the rapist in our presence.

“You know, I wanted to drag this out,” Grayson says as he rounds the man trying to squirm toward the roll door. He drags the guy back to the center by his ankle. “This was supposed to be a reunion present for my girl. I’ve been fantasizing about this moment for a while…watching her get the ch

ance to play…”

Grayson is not a spontaneous killer. Everything he does has been planned out in meticulous detail beforehand. He rarely has any physical contact with his victims. The one thing he does know more than intuitively is if the victim is guilty of a heinous crime.

That’s important to him. It means authorities won’t be inspired to vindicate the victim. There are more deserving victims who warrant the time and effort—not pedophiles. Or corrupt doctors who torture their patients. Or rapists.

Is this all for me? Is his sudden shift in method a way to fuse our two techniques together? Or is it really proof he requires. I killed for him once, but it was Grayson’s hand that pulled the lever. Not mine.

“But,” Grayson adds, groaning as he drags a clear plastic tarp to the center. He then reaches into the man’s back pocket, alleviating him of his wallet. “But, Larry Fleming—” he glances down at the man “—really? That’s unfortunate. Well, Larry, I’m sure I could do a quick search on you. Find all sorts of other unfortunate things, like the fact you’ve probably been convicted before.”

Larry stammers as he gets to his knees. He’s muttering against the masking tape. Grayson yanks it off, his blade pressed to Larry’s neck so quick the man swallows his cry of pain.

In a shaky voice, Larry says, “I was falsely accused, and I still served my time!”

Grayson rolls his shoulders back. He grabs Larry’s phone he placed out of his reach from one of the crates, silent fury radiating from his body. He drops the phone to the tarp and smashes it. With a forceful yank on the guy’s collar, Grayson pulls Larry upright. He drops closer to his ear. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

Larry doesn’t answer.

The click of the switchblade reverberates around the warehouse, then the blade is once again at Larry’s throat. Larry stutters out a “Y-yes.”

Grayson looks at me. “Spread your legs, London. Just like you used to in your therapy room. Nice and slow…but leave them parted.”

A thrill seizes my chest. “You noticed that?”

He nods leisurely. “I noticed everything.”

I uncross my ankles and make like I’m going to cross my legs, but instead, I relax back onto my hands, inching my thighs open. Grayson’s gaze drops to the apex between my thighs. I can feel the heated, tangible press of his stare as he licks his lips.

“So fucking sexy,” Grayson says. “Isn’t she sexy?”

Larry nods.

“Touch yourself,” Grayson says to me.

An immediate ache blooms in my core at his command. As I slip my hand beneath my black skirt, I see only Grayson. The man who challenged my sanity and brought me back from the brink. I’m alive—truly alive—only when I’m with him.

Grayson’s chest rises and falls as he watches me, matching my own heavy breaths. The intensity in his eyes pulls at the ache in my back, the throb so deep and hot I can’t help but rock my hips against the hard container.

He grabs ahold of Larry’s hair and tugs his head back. “Beware,” Grayson says, his voice a low threat. “She’s a temptress. Seduction is one of her skills. Just look at her… Don’t you want her? Don’t you crave her?”


Tags: Trisha Wolfe Darkly, Madly Romance