Page 18 of Ruthless

My teeth grind together, spearing pain through my jaw. A bitter burst of shame floods my mouth.

I still remember how it felt to show up at the apartment after escaping and discover she’d been gone for a long time.

Heartbreak burns worse than any torture, scooping vital pieces out of you and leaving emptiness in its wake. Only rage can fill the residual hollow.

If I let that go, too, then what’s left of me?

Sara’s initial confusion over my question fades into resignation. She lifts her chin. “Pain.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

Sneering, I release her wrist and steer her from the prison by the back of her neck, nearly jerking my hand away again when the softness of her skin beneath my calloused palm registers. Touching her carries as much danger as toying with an open flame.

My body remembers hers. Each time she wanders too close, the old hunger reignites as if it never died.

The scent of her, roses and sweet red cherries, envelops me, and my fingers curl. I should shove her away like I did with Angela, but I tell myself that I can’t risk her running.

Not when I haven’t had a chance to play with her yet.

She grimaces at my tightening grip, and unconsciously, I ease the pressure.

Her pale skin bruises easily. Blushes easily too. She used to flush the most delicious shade of red whenever I’d map the faint blue lines of her inner thighs with my tongue.

The desire to bend her over and fuck her until she sobs is so strong that I can almost taste it.

“Where are we going?” Her wavering voice contradicts her previous boldness.

She doesn’t have to wonder for long. The thuds and grunts associated with fighting greet us long before we arrive at the training room door. Outfitted with mats, punching bags, and a cage in one corner for no-holds-barred sparring, my personal guards, as well as my newest soldiers, have no excuse not to train every day.

Sweat, coppery blood, and leather taint the air. As I suck the familiar scents into my lungs to replace her fruity aroma, I immediately feel steadier. The sound of fists pounding against flesh reminds me of what and who I am. The men on today’s schedule have been practicing for a while already, and every sweat-coated face is lined with strain and exhaustion. Still, I’m not satisfied.

People look in our direction as Sara and I enter the room, and the easy chatter stops abruptly.

“Where’s Gregor?”

Everyone exchanges uncomfortable glances, but only a second or two passes before a young man with strawberry blond hair and a teardrop tattoo next to one eye comes forward. He shifts from foot to foot, licking his lip nervously but standing tall. Sara lights with recognition, and Gregor’s eyes dart to her and away again, almost too quickly to catch.

Almost.

My nostrils flare. “There a problem?”

Gregor shakes his head. “No, sir.”

Keeping my gaze locked on Sara, I snap my fingers in his direction. “You’re in the cage today.”

No protest. Good. Gregor’s fairly new to the organization, and the cage is brutal if you lack experience.

Today, that’s the point.

As he heads over, Sara grips my wrist, and I can’t help but notice the rapid flutter of her pulse.

“What the hell are you doing?” She hisses.

Smirking, I prop myself against the wall and tug her to my chest. “You chose pain.”

“But I thought?—”

“What? That I’d hurtyou?” I nip the top of her ear, pressing my cock into the small of her back when her body bows.