“Watching you murder someone,” she snaps.
He throws his head back, laughing at her honesty. “Like to watch, do you?” he asks.
Her hips buck under me, but I keep her down. I’m well over twice her size, so she isn’t going anywhere. She can wear herself out all she wants.
“What a coincidence. So do I,” he tells her with a dark laugh.
She stiffens, and he looks at me. “Go ahead, Cole. Give me a show. I earned it. We gave her one, after all.”
“Don’t,” she whispers as her lips part, and she sucks in a ragged breath.
I smile down at her even if she can’t see me. My hand loosens around her slender neck, and I run my fingers down her skin and along her collarbone, pulling down her oversized hoodie in the process. The blood trail I leave behind makes my cock harden inside my jeans. I can feel her pulse race, and I like it. The fear in her green eyes. The sound of her ragged breathing and shaking of her body.
“You know how much I love to perform,” I tell him.
“Please.” Her body trembles with the plea while my fingers run over her shoulder, pushing her black bra strap off and watching it disappear into the sleeve of her hoodie.
Deke slaps me on the back. “She’s begging you already, Cole. Fuck! That’s some kind of record, right?” He whistles.
The wind picks up and tosses her hair around her face, causing it to stick to the blood along her neck and chest. “Red is your color,” I tell her.
“Orange is gonna be yours,” she growls, lifting her chin.
I smile at her words.
Deke just laughs it off. “She may have recorded it,” he says, getting serious.
I sigh as if that thought is disappointing. “That would be very stupid of you.”
I drop my flashlight beside her head. Letting go of her, I sit up, and just like I knew she would, she yanks her arms out from underneath me and lifts them to my chest, trying to shove me off her. I don’t budge. Then she runs her nails down my skin. I feel it break at her force, and I refrain from moaning at the pain.
I wrap my hands around her wrists and push them above her head, holding them against the wet ground. Then I scoot my body up to her chest and sit down on her. “Check her pockets,” I order Deke.
She screams out as she tries to fight me. Her hips buck, and she kicks her legs out, but Deke pulls a cell out of her back pocket. “It’s locked.”
“What’s the passcode?” I demand.
She clamps her mouth shut, and her eyes narrow. I like the fight in her. Most women would already be sobbing. I lean down and give her a threatening smile even though she still can’t see me. Lowering my voice, I say, “Either you give me the passcode, or I take it from you. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” A part of me wants her to make me take it. I love it when someone forces my hand—making the decision for me.
“I didn’t …”
“That’s not the only thing we’re gonna take,” Deke says, cutting her off, and then I hear him undoing her pants behind me.
“No!” she cries out. Her hands fisting as I hold them down above her head. “It’s retina … it’s a retina scanner,” she says in a rush.
“Fucking technology,” he growls. “What happened to the good ole days where you just flipped the phone open, and it fucking worked?”
He holds it up to her, my flashlight lies on the ground next to us, shining on her face. It must open because he pulls it back and starts to go through it. He grunts.
“What is it?” I ask.
“No videos or pictures of it. But there is something interesting.”
“I tried to tell you. I didn’t record it,” she says, panting. My weight on her chest makes it hard for her to breathe.
“What did you find?” I ask, ignoring her.
There’s a long pause before he finally says, “Austin Lowes.”
My brows shoot up. “As in Bruce Lowes?”
Silence.
I chuckle. “Well, well, well, I didn’t know he had a daughter.” She looks around our age. Seventeen, eighteen at the oldest.
She clamps her mouth shut. Interesting. She doesn’t want to acknowledge the bastard either. Good for her. He’s a sorry piece of shit.
“We don’t have time for this,” Deke growls, his patience wearing thin since he isn’t going to get to play with her. He stands and pulls out the gun tucked in the back of his jeans. “Let’s just kill her.”
She narrows her eyes up at the darkness. My eyes trace the blood on her wrists, neck, and chest. She’s too beautiful to kill. Too precious to destroy. Yet. He’s afraid she’ll talk, go to the police, but I’m not. She fears us. Thinks we’ll hurt her. She’s not wrong.