“No,” I gripped his arm to stop him from standing, my own voice sounding beastly. “You need to fuck me.”
His body jerked. “Kate, you’re bleeding.” It was not a protest. Not for him anyway. He was battling, I could see that clearly. With his need to care for me versus the beast inside of him that didn’t care if I hurt. No, the beast inside thatwanted me to hurt. That got off on it.
I sat up, sucking in a harsh breath at the pain that came with the movement, then I yanked him down so his body was flush with mine. His hard cock pressed into me through his jeans.
“You like my blood, remember?” I murmured against his mouth.
“Oh, I remember,” he growled. His eyes locked onto mine. “When we’re done here, you’re gonna take this knife…” he brushed the blade against my cheek, still warm with my blood.
“And you’re gonna carve your initials onto my chest.”
My blood sang at the mere thought.
Then he fucked me, covered in my blood.
We didn’t get to his turn that night. But two nights later, I was the one holding the knife.
My hand shook. Not because I was afraid to make him bleed. I was hungry for it. Especially seeing the state he was in, how crazy it was making him to see me on top of him while holding the knife.
No, that’s not why my hand shook.
It was because I didn’t want to mark him with the last name I’d been born with. Or the one that had been forced upon me. Neither of those were mine. Not even a little.
I cut the letters K.C. into his skin.
I hadn’t let him see it. Had quickly washed and bandaged it, making him promise that he wouldn’t look until I explained it to him.
He’d looked at me questioningly, but he’d promised. Because he trusted me.
Because he loved me.
Hands. Different hands tugged my jeans down. Hands that truly hurt me. Hands that broke me apart. They yanked my jeans and panties down.
They brushed over the scab.
The one that, though still healing, was very distinct.
That’s when he started hitting me. And he didn’t stop. He was killing me, I realized.
I was gone, girl.
SWISS
We found her in a ditch.
A ditch.
He’d tossed her there like she was trash.
Like she was trash.
She was alive. Barely. If he’d known that, he would’ve rectified the situation. It was obvious that he’d thought she was dead.
She looked fuckin’ dead.
We’d only found her ’cause Wire had managed to hack into the husband’s phone, check it against locations. It had been at a hotel for a handful of hours before driving to this road off the highway.
He was still on the move. We were following his exact route. And I only saw her out of sheer luck. ’Cause I was searching the sides of the road with dread. Because Wire—a patched hacker in the Amber chapter—had been able to find one hospital record for Kate. Four years ago. Broken arm. Nasty fucking break. Required surgery. I remembered running my lips across the faint scar on her arm, her telling me about a break, so breathless that I hadn’t heard the edge in her voice. I’d been too far gone to push it. Push for more.