Page 59 of Bite Me

Dacre straightens. “This has nothing to do with Florence.”

“It has everything to do with her.”

“I wouldn’t do anything to put my sister in danger.”

The man lifts the glowing red knife. “Hold out your hands.”

Dacre doesn’t hesitate to pull his hands from his pockets and place them on the counter.

“Use this as your reminder to focus. Discipline your emotions.”

I don’t want to see, but I can’t look away.

Dacre grits his teeth as the man slashes his hands with the hot blade. I’m frozen. I should not be here witnessing this. I should get help—

My leg gives out from under me. I bump the door, making its hinges squeak as I fall to the floor.

Oh shit.

“What was that?” The man’s voice accompanies the clatter of the knife on the counter.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Dacre’s voice is oddly calm.

“Check over there.”

There’s no way I will make it out of the lounge without them catching me, so I hide, rushing toward the first door I see.

I close the door and squeeze myself below a shelf between the paper towels and cleaning supplies.

Seconds later, the door opens and the light turns on. I cower, backing up till my back is against the wall.

Footsteps sound closer, and I place my hands over my ears.

I’m being pulled from my hiding spot—then smothered. I recognize his scent before I see him. Dacre and I are chest to chest. I squirm while he places a hand over my mouth. Every attempt to struggle stops when I look into his eyes. Fear.

He hugs me till I’m flush with his body, then rubs his cheek across mine. I’m lost in a frozen daze for seconds.

Wait. He’s . . . trying to hide my scent.

“Nothing over here,” the man calls. “I know I saw the door move.”

“I was just checking the cleaning closet. I don’t see anything,” Dacre calls.

When I try to squirm from his grip, he rubs the back of my head. It’s enough to calm me while his lips graze my skin. It’s all business, and I know that logically. But a simmering heat gathers in my belly when his warm tongue glides over my neck, then my wrists.

I’m hot all over with the feeling of his tongue on my skin. It’s frantic. Panicked. A desperate attempt to mask my scent with his because of this psychotic mystery man. Dacre’s lips move below my jaw, and I shudder as he carefully sucks at the skin there.

He reminds me to keep quiet with eye contact every few seconds, and I dig my fingernails into his forearm as his thumb rubs over every area where his saliva lingers.

It’s . . . not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and unfortunately, that just adds to my mounting confusion and fear. What will this man do if he finds me here? If he’s willing to do that to someone he considers a son, I’m sure I don’t want to see my fate.

Something in Dacre’s touch eases me into compliance.

The space between us is filled with our breath when he pulls away.

“I didn’t find anything. Let’s go,” the man says.

“I’ll be right there. I just have to clean up my station,” Dacre says, his green eyes boring into mine.