Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,75

beauty of Lila, or the elegant Disney princess that was Cressida.

I was just me.

But then I imagined Priest behind me, his stern, unsmiling mouth in that lush, dark red beard, his unruly hair pulled into a messy bun at the back of his neck, his tattooed fingers wrapped around my throat like the sexiest accessory, and I thought, maybe, me was a good thing to be.

There was a sharp judder at the door as someone tried the handle and found it locked.

“Occupied,” I called out, turning on the tap to wash my hands.

Another fierce rattle of the metal handle.

“Occupied!” I shouted again.

Silence.

I adjusted my breasts in my crop top and flashed my reflection a sunny smile I didn’t feel. How could I be so desolate with yearning when I’d just seen Priest one day ago? Was it because I’d given him my virginity? I didn’t think so. Even though I’d been raised to believe sex was meant for a husband and wife, I didn’t subscribe wholesale to every Christian belief. I believed in gay marriage, in a woman’s right to choose, and in having sex when you felt beautiful and brave enough to engage in that intimacy with someone you believed was worthy.

I stared down at the pink ribbon I had tied on my right wrist and remembered the way Priest had tied it around my hands, binding them at my back so he could use me as he wanted.

Heat coiled low in my stomach and spread down my thighs.

I wanted him to wrap that ribbon around my throat just a little too tight. I wanted the tip of his knife against my skin cutting his name into my body to show his ownership over it.

Because he did own me, body and soul. The only thing I’d never known for sure was if we would be compatible in bed, and after last night, I was sure all of my darkest, most deviant fantasies could only be met and surpassed by the older enforcer with cruel hands and wicked eyes.

There was a loud crack against the door behind me as if someone had been pushed into the frame. I whirled around, my heart in my throat, hoping everything was okay outside.

Another massive bang shook the flimsy door but was timed perfectly with the bass of the loud music, so it blended with the melody. I doubt anyone around the corner farther down the hall would hear the cacophony.

I realized as my breath clogged in my lungs that someone was trying to get inside.

Instantly, my heart set to racing, sweat breaking out over every inch of my skin. There wasn’t much in the handicap stall to use as a weapon, but I was grateful as ever for the double-edged blade Priest had given me that I wore fixed to my upper thigh beneath my fishnets.

My fingers fumbled to break open the mesh to get to the knife as there was another bang against the door. The handle fell off from the inside, leaving a hole through to the exterior. In it, I could see the black-clad body of a man.

A second later, the door swung open on softly creaking hinges. The sound sent shivers scuttling down my spine.

I looked up through my hair as the man entered, his face obscured in the shadows of his hood. My numb fingers tore through the fishnet, but the knife clattered to the floor between my feet.

There was a split second that dragged out in slow motion as we both stared at the discarded knife.

And then we moved.

I ducked down to grab the knife securely in one hand just as he lunged across the space. One of his hands yanked me by the hair so viciously, I yelped, but I was already bringing the knife up to thrust it hard into his left thigh. A vicious curse tore from his mouth, but he wasn’t deterred. I tried to pull the knife from his clenched muscle, but my fingers were slick with blood. They slipped off the carved wooden handle as he hauled me to my feet and backhanded me hard across the face.

Pain fizzed through my head, white and blinding.

There was the odd sensation of my body being moved easily without my consent, my brain momentarily disconnected from my body.

I came back into it with a jarring, painful suddenness that robbed me of breath.

He’d lifted me onto the basin, the porcelain cold against my bare ass under the skirt. He was fumbling with my fishnet tights