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His jaw goes tight, eyes narrowing. “They never said I couldn’t look.” He gives the towel an aggressive tug that sends me stumbling toward him. The thought of crashing into his chest, against that still-wet blood, is the only reason I let it go. I stiffen at the air against my bare skin. He easily rips the towel from my hands, dropping it to the floor before his cold gaze descends upon my naked body.

I rigidly cross my arms over my chest. Not that it’s hiding much. There’s a camera in the corner, but he doesn’t even spare it a glance. He just maps my body with his eyes, resting a wide palm on the wall over my shoulder like he’s getting real comfortable about it.

His tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip. “Such a waste,” he mutters, gaze zeroing in on the swell of my tits. “Keeping you all hidden away like this. Tucked away like a doll in a case.” Hisother hand reaches out, but I don’t flinch as it pauses, hovering a hairsbreadth from the skin of my hip. His eyes flick up to mine, so full of intensity that it sends a shiver up my spine. “If you were mine, I’d be raw dogging your pussy every night.”

I clench my teeth as his hand moves, an invisible caress up my ribs. “Thank the fuck I’m not yours,” I remind him. “I’d have to slit my wrists.”

So quiet that I’m not even sure he intends for me to hear, Nick mutters, “You could be.”

Well, that’s a terrifying thought.

The harsh, grating sound of his phone shatters the silence. I jump at the intrusion, erasing the distance between my side and his calloused fingertips.

“That’s Daddy Payne calling,” Nick says, eyes dropping to where his fingers rest on my skin. “He’s watching on the camera. You should know that about him, Little Bird.” His face remains impassive, unreadable. “He’s been watching you nonstop these days. He barely even goes home anymore. What do you think that means?”

My throat jumps with a swallow. “Probably that he’s a sick fuck.”

Nick’s silent laugh collides with my chin in a warm puff of beer-scented breath. “You have no idea.” He tilts his head and watches me, inspecting me even as his phone continues its loud, jarring chime. “The things he wants people to do to you? It’d make you want to turn those bed sheets into a noose.”

But as he reads me, I struggle to read him. That’s the thing about Nick. He’s got two settings—unbearably cocky and unreadable mask—and sometimes one stands in for the other. It doesn’t really matter. I never forget what he is. The Kings are only as strong as their foot soldiers. The people they pay to take out the trash and beat loyalty into others. Nick Bruin is a trigger finger with the barest glimmer of sapience.

So when the phone stops ringing, the last thing I’m expecting him to do is turn his back to the camera and say, “We can run. I’ve got a car outside.” His gaze moves back and forth between mine. The lock of hair falling in his eyes makes him look, for a moment, haggard and harried. “Fuck Daniel. Fuck the Kings. You don’t want to belong to them.”

Setting my jaw, I ask, “You think I want to belong to you?”

“Why not?” I’d expect the cockiness here, but that’s not what I see. I get the hot edge of his anger instead, the flare of his nose, the tick of his jaw. “I’d treat you good.”

“Says the murderer who wants to fuck me raw.” I scoff, pulling my hip away from his touch. But it’d be a lie to say I don’t think about it, and I can tell from the spark in his eyes that he realizes I’m turning it over.

I’d throw on my clothes and leave everything else behind. We’d fly down the stairs and jump into his car. He’d load his gun, peel out with his foot on the gas, and race us down the Avenue toward whatever new, fickle freedom awaits. I’d have to let him fuck me, but he’s one person. I could get away from him. He has to sleep. Nick wouldn’t be able to watch me all the time. Plus, a little sex for my freedom? Doesn’t sound too bad. Fuck it, maybe Nick’s a decent guy. He hurts people, but he’s never hurt me. Even now, standing in front of him naked and defenseless, knowing that he wants it, he wouldn’t make a move. If he wants me, he can be manipulated.

I exhale, all the hope bleeding from my lungs. Running isn’t an option. Not yet. I still have things to do in Forsyth. Scores to settle. “We wouldn’t get past county lines before they found us, and you know it.”

“We would,” he says, all looming and dark-eyed. “All it’d take is a little information.” Leaning closer, the tattoo on his temple fills my vision when he whispers, “Just tell me where Leticia is.”

I freeze, lungs aching with an aborted breath. “What?”

But it’s drowned out by his phone going off again, the shrill tone mingling with the Christmas music from the TV.

“It’s all he wants,” Nick says, voice urgent. “If we give him Leticia—fuck, even if it’s just her body—we can—” he jumps back when he spots my knee coming toward his groin. He wrestles me into the wall, his unyielding body pinning me against it. “Ah, Little Bird. I know you like shit rough, but no hurting the goods.” His breath is warm on my ear. “One day, that pussy is going to be mine.”

His body is taut with hard muscles. I have no problem fighting back, but I’m well aware of how dangerous he is. There’s a line and I can’t cross it. Not until I’m ready. Standing here naked and cold isn’t ready.

“Are you done?” he asks.

I look away, jaw locking. “Yeah.” I’m more pissed at myself than him, anyway. Nick belongs to the Kings almost as much as I do. Fucking stupid to think he gives a damn about taking me away. He just wants some juicy intel to take back to his bosses.

“Good.” He holds onto me one last moment, then releases me. “No need for a Christmas massacre.” Taking his phone from his pocket, he slides his thumb across the screen, answering, “Hey boss.” He idly tosses me my towel as his gaze flicks to the camera. “Yeah, we’re playing nice. Just a little tussle. No big.” He listens and watches me re-wrap the towel around my body, an involuntary shiver making my shoulders tremble. Suddenly, his eyebrow raises, a small, dark grin twisting his mouth. “Well, I appreciate that. Thank you. And Merry Christmas to you, too. Give Posey my best.”

Whatever Daniel says to him, he doesn’t share. He just sets his phone on top of the television and begins pulling off his blood-stained shirt. It’s hard not to look at him, his warm skin covered in ink and hard muscles. He looks even more dangerous like this. Raw strength. I realize exactly how stupid it’s been forme to fight him. He could take me out easily if he wanted to, like squashing a bug.

If Daniel would let him.

He raises his chin, dark eyes staring down his nose at me. “Like what you see, Little Bird?”

“No.” I drag my eyes away, but not before I notice the cut on his side. The gash is edged in angry, singed skin. Not all the blood is from the victim. I nod to the obvious bullet graze. “He got you before you killed him.”

He touches it gently, shrugging. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”