Page 49 of Thirst
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“Lilith Island.”
“What? No.” I jerked at the cuffs without thinking. White-hot pain shot up my arms, and my knees buckled.
I knew all about Lilith Island. How far out in the Atlantic it sat, a dark speck of rock and forest and syndicate law. Once you crossed its borders, you weren’t just isolated; you were under Maritime Syndicate rule. They ran that place like their own private Sicily.
If Cain took me there, I might never leave. He could lock me away and no one would stop him. And if I did manage to escape, I’d be branded a blood-rat for the rest of my life.
“Please.” Forcing my legs to straighten, I threw a pleading look over my shoulder. “You have to believe me. I wasn’t here to hurt you. You can’t take me to Lilith Island. You’ll ruin?—”
“Can’t I?” he interrupted as he turned me to face him, making sure I saw his fuck-you smirk.
Even being moved was agony. I inhaled, a small, hurt sound.
Cain muttered a curse. Reaching behind me, he pressed something on the cuffs and the spikes retracted. I released a breath. My wrists still burned, but it no longer felt like a silver-toothed dog was gnawing them.
The humans got into a small red car and pulled out of the parking lot.
“You don’t have to do this.” The words spilled out, scraped raw by panic. “You can pretend I didn’t show. I’ll tell my father that Baker never showed, that something must’ve happened.”
His lips quirked in a nasty little smile. “Now why would I lie to my own primus for you?”
I swallowed hard.
Why indeed?
Something inside me caved in, piece by crumbling piece, leaving a gaping crater where my heart had been.
Clearly he felt nothing for me. He’d been stringing me along to get what he could. Yeah, he’d liked the sex, but the end game had never been me. It had been my father.
I searched his coldly handsome face, looking for a crack… a flicker. Something that said I’d mattered. That I’d been more than a convenient route to intel about the QCS.
But his expression was unreadable.
And I was drowning in his silence.
“You don’t believe me,” I stated dully. “You think I’m lying.”
“Yes.”
A wild hurt bloomed in my belly. I’d been trying to help the man. The man I’d begun to believe was my mate, even though I hadn’t dared say it aloud. I’d barely let myself think it.
And Cain? He’d leapt straight to the worst possible conclusion.
The weight of it crushed the air from my lungs, tearing up the last of my hope along with it. Anger surged up through the ripped pieces, hot and blinding.
I let my forehead drop to his chest, my voice going bedroom-husky. “Cain…” I breathed, savoring the way his whole body stiffened.
Then I drove my knee toward his groin.
I didn’t expect to escape. He was more powerful even when I wasn’t handcuffed and fighting silver poisoning. But I wanted to see him doubled over in agony, wanted him to feel a fraction of my pain.
The man moved like a ninja—half-demon, half-nightmare—twisting out of reach almost before I was in motion. My knee glanced off the outside of his hip.
At least I’d made him jump back.
I feinted left, darted right. I made it three steps before he grabbed me by the arm. “Try that again and I’ll take it out on that ass of yours.”
