His gaze doesn’t waver.
“Screw this, I’ll ask Saint.” I go to leave.
Before I can take a step, Sin grabs my nape, yanks me back, and claims my mouth with his.
Sweet Lord.
His lips are unrelenting. They demand entrance, forcing me to open to him. His tongue dives into my mouth and swallows my breath. Time and again, he owns my soul, the heat of his skin and the bite of his teeth merciless.
Everything becomes white noise as I drown in salt and ocean. For one second, then two, I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to care for a man like him.
He pulls back. “Fuck.”
Then he pushes me away.
Stumbling, I right myself before spinning to face him. “What the hell? What was that for?”
His eyes, once clear, are conflicted. “Later, babe.” The private exit clicks shut behind him.
The office door opens.
My heart drops as I fight back the hurt, betrayal, and anger.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Chapter Sixteen
Temple
“Who are you?” A reed-thin man with bilious yellow skin makes his way into the office. Even with the slight limp, he moves quicker than a guy of his age should. With barely concealed hunger, his rheumy eyes scan my figure.
He’s bad news.
Schooling my shock at being left for dead by Sin and Saint, I counter, “I think the real question is, who are you?”
A macabre grin splits his angular features. “A friend.”
“Not of mine, you’re not.” I edge around the desk, intending to walk past him.
He grasps my bicep. “I’m The Collector’s friend, and this is his office, so….”
The Collector?
Ice pours through my veins, freezing me in place as I try to make sense of this information.
Irish mob boss.
Criminal mastermind.
Feared by the sane.
Admired by the insane.
Sin and Saint’s dad.
Holy. Motherfucking. Fuck.
The longer I stay, the angrier I get. At myself, Sin, and the voice in my head who told me to follow him.
The stranger’s cracked yellow nails dig into my skin. “I asked you a question, pretty lady. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
I think over my options. The odds aren’t great. This guy is wily, I can tell. He reeks of cheap liquor and dirty tricks. I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot me in the back of the head the moment I turn away.
But I’ve been in worse situations.
My heart rate spikes at the memory. Desperate screams echo in my mind, growing louder, more frantic with each breath.
Unbidden reminders of the way my T-shirt was torn from me, of the rough hands that held me down, of my futile attempts to get away, and how, no matter what I said or did, there was no escape.
I force myself back to the present. Falling into the darkness of my past won’t help me now.
Yet it lingers. Hiding in the shadows, taunting, haunting, terrorizing me.
I try to regain control. “Get your hand off me.”
He smirks, his sharp features contorting into a series of ugly lines. “What are you going to do, little lamb? Scream?” He leans in close, his breath rancid. “I love it when women scream.”
Clearing my mind, I forget my past. There’s no way I’ll give this stranger the satisfaction of seeing me anxious. Apart from a busted kneecap and a broken leg, he’s getting nothing from me.
I look from his hand to his face. “Let go.”
His gaze hardens. “I won’t do shit except hold you down while you cry for mercy. There’s a price for entering The Collector’s office. You walked into the lion’s den, and now you’re going to pay.”
Unbidden images bombard me. Dad’s friends, high on meth, pinning my arms and legs to the floor. Dad undoing his belt and the top button of his jeans, his dilated pupils glazed as fuck as he savors my impotent terror.
Then, pain.
So. Much. Pain.
As he steals from me what was never his to take.
Throat tight and eyes stinging, I internally yell, Get your fucking shit together, Temple. This stranger isn’t your dad. He’s a pathetic gremlin who doesn’t know what’s about to hit him. Woman up, already. Show him what you’re made of.
Fortifying myself, I take in my surroundings. There’s a corner that will be a bitch to get out of, so I need to avoid it. The flat-screen and its electrical cords will double up as weapons if I need them, and the corner of the glass desk will knock this guy unconscious, possibly even kill him if I get the angle right. But first….
He grins, it’s sick and twisted.
“You should have listened to me when you had the chance,” I warn, my voice low.
“And miss out on all the fun? No way.”
With more speed than I gave him credit for, he darts behind me, traps my arms, and thrusts his hips forward. The bulge in his pants rubs against my lower back making me want to gag.
Sweat, cheap deodorant, and misdirected testosterone flood my nostrils. They drown out the other smells, making my head swim. Come on, Temple. Do something. You’re not a victim.
Testing his strength, I struggle.
There’s no give.
From behind me, he sneers. “Keep squirming. I want to see those tits bounce.” With his free hand, he skims the underside of my breast, his cracked knuckles catching on the fabric of my hoodie.
“Big fucking mistake.” I lift my leg and slam my foot on the inside of his knee.
It pops out of place, a bone snaps, and ligaments tear. The stranger, caught between wanting to drop to the floor and hold me in place, howls in agony.
Figuring I’ll make the decision for him, I brace myself, knowing I’m in for some epic pain. After counting to three, I slam my head back and connect with his face. The satisfying crunch of a broken nose fills my ears. It’s closely followed by a string of incoherent curses as my arms are freed.
He falls.
I push my hair back and glare at his crumpled body.
He’s curled on his side. His face is deathly pale, beads of sweat trail down his cheeks, and his expression is anguished.
“If you come near me again,” I warn, “if you so much as breathe in my direction, I’ll end you. I don’t care if you’re on your own or if you’re backed by The Collector and his army, it’ll always end the same way—with you wishing you’d stayed the fuck away.” I take in the blood splattering the otherwise pristine office. “You’d better clean this up. The Collector’s not going to like it.”
I make quick work of the lock on the private exit and slip through, shutting the door behind me.
Then, and only then, do I fall apart.
Resting against the wall, I cover my mouth with my hands and choke back a sob. My knees give way, and I slide to the ground. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I hold tight, fearing that if I let go, I’ll fall to pieces.
It’s the darkness that scares me.
Chapter Seventeen
Sin
Temple slides to the ground, curls into a ball, and drops her head to her knees.
I want to see the black shit coating her eyes running down her cheeks. I’d smear it across her skin, watch her fall apart in my hands as she pleads for me to put her back together again.