Page 60 of Cold Mercy

He makes a low sound in his throat, stepping in until his thigh is pressed firmly between mine, the friction sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

“You once told me I can be a saint, but saints have patience, Sophia. And when you look at me like that? When you push me? You burn the saint right out of me. And all that’s left is the sinner who wants to ruin you.”

He lowers his head, his nose brushing against my jawline, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of my neck. I gasp, my head falling back against the brick, my body betraying me instantly.

“And that boy in there?” He sneers against my skin, dismissive and cruel. “He looks at you like you’re glass. He has no idea that you don't need saving; you need to be handled. He would bore you in five minutes.”

He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point of my neck, sucking lightly, marking me.

“You can let him touch you all night, but we both know who you’re going to be thinking about when you close your eyes.”

My breath hitches as the truth of it slices through my defenses. The air between us is so charged it feels like it’s going to snap, and I am one second away from wrapping my legs around him right here in this alley and letting him win.

I push against his chest, desperate to put space between us because he’s right, and I hate it.

“At least I know him better than I know you.” My voice rises without my meaning to. “I met him tonight, and somehow I already know more about him than I learned about you in months. You don’t get to show up here and dictate what I can or can’t do. I’m not yours.”

He doesn’t say a single word back. For the first time, I see the flicker in his eyes that tells me he knows I’m right, that he has absolutely no ground to stand on. But before either of us can breathe, James appears, supporting a barely standing Elizabeth, and for once he isn’t joking, smirking, or being the sunshine of the group.

“Thomas, grab her. We’re leaving, you’ve got the keys.”

We’re still standing chest to chest, only one breath apart, like the world forced us into this corner and is daring us to move.

Thomas doesn’t break eye contact with me as he speaks.

“You heard him. Be a good girl for once and walk to the damn car. We’ll drive you home, and then you can go… dream about what could have happened between us.”

Be a good girl? I’m drunk, but anger is a better stimulant than any alcohol in my bloodstream. He wants to provoke me? No need to tell me more.

“You know what? I think I’ll go back to my friend.” I tilt my head, smile like the devil. “I’m sure he won’t mind driving me home. And unlike you, he doesn't just talk, so maybe I’ll let him prove you wrong.”

I turn toward the entrance of the club, already imagining that sentence slicing through him. James is struggling to keep Elizabeth upright.

“Not a fucking chance. You want to play? Come on, let's play.”

Before I can react, he spins me, his arm already wrapped around my waist, and with terrifying ease he lifts me off my feet, flipping me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. My breath punches out of me as the world turns upside down, and I feel his strong, tense grip holding me firmly in place.

“James, we’re good. Let’s go,” he calls out, his voice sharp enough to cut steel.

I’m kicking, hitting his back with my fists, yelling anything my mouth can form.

“Reed, put me down this fucking second!”

His hands aren’t groping, instead braced firmly under my buttocks, less for arousal and more for the practical purpose of keeping me steady and my dress down.

It doesn't matter, though, because the humiliation still burns like fire.

He doesn’t soften, not even a little.

“You wanted this? Then congratulations, you got it.” His voice is a low growl, vibrating through his chest and into my body. “And here’s a new fact for your precious list of things you know about me. I don’t share, make a note of that.”

I should be clawing his eyes out. But the vibration of his growl against my stomach...God, it sends a jolt straight between my legs. I hate his arrogance, his strength, the way he handles me like I weigh nothing. But I’m not fighting to get away. I’m fighting because I’m terrified of how much I want him to keep walking, to carry me somewhere dark, and finish what he started.

My hair is swinging like a curtain over his shoulder. I can hear James’s voice break into a half-strangled laugh.

“Jesus Christ, Thomas,” he mutters, choking on the sound. “You two are unbelievable.”

Elizabeth, draped over his arm like a drunk, glittery coat, throws one fist in the air. She does not know how to drink, I swear. This is the last time I'll let her talk me into something, because where did I end up? On the arm of a charming asshole, while she happily walks arm in arm with her fiancé.