cruel taste of friction—whatever he can to unnerve and disorient. But I’m quickly learning the rules and how to turn the tables…
By reacting instead of running.
My consent is an unexpected development. He shudders when I gasp into his open mouth, echoing his pants, and stop fighting. The second I clutch his shoulders, a startled grunt revs in his chest. That sound resonates through my spine, down to some secret place inside me that ignites. And my stomach flips with the knowledge that I’ve crossed a line. Gone too far. Too fast.
This corruption isn’t debasing. With him, there’s freedom in falling. In surrendering to base, vile instinct.
In doing more than just enduring.
In feeling.
But he takes it all away in a heartbeat when he rips his mouth from mine. Disappointment forms a pit in my stomach, mingling with shame. I expect him to mockingly leave me on the verge like last time.
My eyes flutter up to his, narrowed in anticipation. But he stares back, his gaze heavy-lidded and unfocused.
“Come with me,” he grates, sliding his hands up to my neck, letting his fingers burrow into the fall of my hair.
“W-Wait.” My brain sputters, struggling to remember something important. Several important somethings. Mara. Who he is. The fact that I shouldn’t be allowing him to pull me across the dance floor toward the club’s entrance.
I start to resist, tugging on his forearm, but it’s too late. We’re already passing the bouncer barring the entrance. Within seconds, my skin prickles in the night air, cooling the sheen of sweat glistening there that I wasn’t aware of.
Neither was I aware until now that my hand is in his, his fingers grasping mine tight.
Until suddenly, he stops short.
“Shit.” His gaze is fixated across the street where a red sports car skids to a tire-squealing stop. Three men climb out and approach the front of the club, cutting past the line, their posture bold and cocky. Alarm bells go off at the back of my mind, displacing my muddled daze. Something is wrong. I can sense it in the air…
A foreboding feeling that only grows as one of the men reaches into his pocket and withdraws something that glints in the glow of a nearby streetlamp, unmistakable in shape—a knife.
“Go—” Rafe shoves me aside so fiercely I careen into the brick facing edging the entrance. Staggering to regain my balance, I look back to see him lurch onto the balls of his feet, his teeth clenched. “Get your little friend. Then go. Now.” His voice is too deep, devoid of any playful mocking. The gruff baritone leeches into me, keeping my annoyance at bay. He’s not playing, for once, and I instinctively take a step back, nearly running into a couple leaving the club.
They falter as well, fixated on the scene unfolding.
“Look who’s here.” The man in the center of the trio—the one holding the knife—mounts the curb first. He’s dressed in a suit, crowned by a blood-red tie, which makes him resemble some odd cross between criminal and businessman. I suspect the effect is intentional to look like one of the characters in my father’s favorite mafia crime dramas. “Little Rafie. The black fucking sheep, which says a lot, considering your fucked-up family.”
“What the fuck do you want?” Rafe growls.
“I hear you’ve been stepping outside of your zone,” the man says. “We’ve come to enlighten you as to why that might not be the best idea.” He brandishes the knife, and a gasp erupts from the few patrons still waiting in line. Some of them scatter, and one of the bouncers steps forward only to halt as Rafe raises his hand.
“Hannah,” he snarls without turning around. “Go!”
“That your new bitch?” the man wonders, nodding to me. He’s tall with short dark hair styled into a slick coif. Cold, green eyes glare from an angular but handsome face, set with a Roman nose. “Funny. I thought you liked blonds.”
“I do,” Rafe replies. “Like Bonnie. Do you want to tell your buddies why she might be here crawling all over my dick? I thought she was fucking you, Gino. One of the few bitches who will without you having to pay for it first, from what I hear.”
Gino laughs, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes blaze, wild and unstable. “Funny because I hear that you’re not as much of a hardass as you pretend to be. That you listen to whiny little whores who run their goddamn mouths. That you like to snitch, Rafie. My club