Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,133

sharp pain was obvious: the metal had worn my wrists raw, stripped back the outer layer of skin and left red rings in its place all the way around.

Wonderful.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head with some difficulty, my neck sore, muscles strained after however many minutes—hours—my head had been hanging like this. A quick glance out the huge windows to my right showed that the sun had only just set, the sky splashed with amber and a rosy pink, darkness closing in.

“Did you feel so very tough today, kitten?” Lloyd murmured with a flick of his cigarette, the ashy end sprinkling onto the floor. “Brandishing a gun of all things—like a little human. How very brave… and stupid.”

“You think any of us want to be here?” I cleared my too-dry throat, wincing at yet another flash of pain. “You’re surprised today happened? I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. You’re illegally detaining—”

“Oh, spare me the theatrics,” he snapped, clomping one foot onto the leg of my chair. The jostling made my heart skip a beat, then race furiously, adrenaline soaring. “I’m tired, kitten. Tired of waiting for you.”

“Maybe we should just cut ties, then,” I said, enough steel in my spine to meet those dangerous greys, just for a moment. I arched an eyebrow. “I mean, this is doomed to fail, me and you. We’ll never be happy with each other, so—”

“Enough.” He shoved at my chair and shot to his feet. I muffled a whimper, lips tight together, instinct begging me to run. My magic curdled deep inside, overflowing and compounding, promising disaster I didn’t let off some of the steam. For the first time since I’d found this damn collar around my neck, my magic turned its wrath on me, scalding up my windpipe like a case of severe heartburn, desperate to get out.

“Please just—”

“No, kitten.” Lloyd swooped in and grabbed me by the chin, fingertips biting into my cheeks and forcing my jaw apart. His greying lashes fluttered as his eyes dropped to my lips, and when I let out a stuttering breath, pulse throbbing between my ears, his other hand latched onto my throat and squeezed. “No, now is the time to listen.”

I sucked down a gulp of air while I still had the chance, my panicked gaze darting around—spurring him on. Lloyd zeroed in on my windpipe, crushing it slowly, and I flailed, chair rustling, but all the restraints held firm. They did their job, cuffs slicing deeper into my wrists, ankle bonds tough as steel.

Even the collar that had slowly become a part of me, an appendage I wanted to cut out and discard, dug into my skin after months of just existing, normally uncomfortable but largely ignorable. As Lloyd went from gripping to strangling, electricity suddenly hummed through the leather—like the charms thought I was trying to take it off. A squeal clawed up my crushed windpipe when the next bolt zapped at my skin, sharper this time.

The noise seemed to bring Lloyd back to the moment, the storm clouds lifting in his eyes, and he eased off as I coughed and gasped, breathing a little harder himself. Slowly, he peeled each finger from my face, my throat, and then righted himself, sweeping a hand through his tousled salt-and-pepper waves, then smoothing it down his matching black, grey, and white suit combo. Pristine as always, so put together…

And now sporting a very obvious erection.

Tears burned again, threatening to spill over if I so much as blinked, and I looked up and away, head tipped back just enough to rein them in.

“You’re going to be such fun, kitten,” he remarked softly, striking out and catching the one traitorous droplet that slipped free. He let it dangle off his fingertip, then flicked it away like he’d done with his cigarette, which now sat in cinders on the floor, abandoned. One vice replaced with another.

“No more terms.” Lloyd perched on the edge of his enormous desk and fidgeted with his tie, righting it, tightening it, eyes never once leaving mine. “Here’s what’s going to happen. If you don’t leave with me tonight, I’m going to take those urchins you spend all your time with and destroy them. Elijah Greystone, Fintan of the fucking Midnight Court, and my personal favorite—Rafe O’Dwyer.”

While I knew I shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of seeing me panic, I did. Again. I gave him my horror with my slightly parted lips, my eyes wide like saucers, the blood draining from