“Good.” Green eyes studied me, the golden specks illuminated under the light. “A word of advice. Don’t fight.”
“Don’t fight what?”
A devious smirk curled at the edges of his mouth. “Me.”
That was all it took. One word, and every nerve ending in my body prickled with warning as the threat in his voice penetrated deep into every bone. My lips quivered, my skin cold and damp while our gazes remained locked.
He toyed with the tip of his beard while he remained crouched in front of me. The seconds that passed felt like hours. But no matter how scared I was, how easily he evoked fear in me, I could not look away from him. Every moment was possessed by conflicting emotions.
Attraction and fear.
Curiosity and panic.
Excitement and uncertainty.
My mind was a vortex of thoughts that made absolutely no sense.
Placing his hands on his knees, he was about to stand, but I moved to the edge of the bed. “Who are you?”
He stilled, eyes narrowed, then lightly tapped at the rank displayed on his cut, silently answering my question.
“I know you’re the president. I meant,” I sucked on my bottom lip, “what is your name?”
For a few seconds, his eyes found mine. Cold. Hard. Undeniably mesmerizing. It elicited a kind of fear I fought hard to control, yet my skin heated under his gaze.
He licked his lips, the movement drawing my attention to his mouth framed with an unruly black beard. “You’re here in a room, with a stranger, no idea where you are or what’s going to happen. Yet the question you demand an answer to is what’s my name?”
I shrugged, putting on the bravest face possible. “I want to know the man who saved me from being kidnapped only to kidnap me himself.” One good thing my mother taught me was to never show weakness. Show weakness, and you exposed your greatest vulnerability.
His hand reached out to touch a strand of my blonde hair, and I closed my eyes, holding my breath. Anticipating. Fearing.
The gentlest touch of his hand brushed against the side of my face right where it ached from the blow I was dealt. I could have sworn I heard a groan as he pulled back, and I exhaled.
As he straightened, making his way to the door, I jumped up. “My father will find me.”
A wicked grin laced with secrets and sin spread across his face. “Not when I’m the one helping him look for you.”
5
Granite
It tookevery ounce of self-control a man like me could have to be able to walk out of that room without taking her. I was pretty sure if it wasn’t for the bruise on her face turning my lust into anger, I probably would have.
No one needed to tell me what a bad motherfucker I was. I already knew. But when I crouched down in front of her, witnessing the fear in her eyes as she watched me, I wanted to rip through those goddamn tights she wore and fist her hair while shoving my dick so far up her pussy she would taste the head of my cock on her tongue.
There was something about the scent of fear on a woman. Sweet, yet thrilling. Innocent, yet so fucking forbidden. It turned me the fuck on. Always had. But smelling it on her, seeing it in her eyes, it was different. It wasn’t just something I had to have. It was something I needed. Something I craved more than just the pleasure of a release. It was stronger than that. It fucking possessed my soul ever since I knew of her existence—which was why I had to get the fuck out of that room before I lost myself to the craving. She wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
I rounded the corner and saw Ink, our sergeant-at-arms, waiting for me by the stairs. “Have someone here at all times. Understood?”
“Already on it.” He leaned over the rail. “Yo, Manic. Get your Hispanic ass up here, pronto.” Then he turned back to face me. “So, the prospect ain’t giving us anything we don’t already know.”
“Of course, he ain’t. Where’s the fucker now?”
“Waiting in the back. Fucker pissed himself…twice.”
I stomped down the stairs and lit a cigarette while Ink hauled his tattooed ass behind me. His name was pretty much self-explanatory. “I’ll take care of him.”