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Just as I begin to swipe my red lipstick on my lips, the plane rumbles, and crimson is now on my goddamn cheek.

Huffing, I grab a baby wipe from my carry-on bag and swipe it off.

Xavier flew into L.A. last night, so we’re on Zade’s private jet and about halfway there. We have intel that he’ll be attending an exclusive underground club tonight, so looking expensive is required. I’m anxious about seeing Xavier again, so I decided to occupy my time by getting ready during the flight rather than drowning in the anxiety and sweating off my makeup.

Makes me wonder if Xavier has ever felt that way. His arrogance is a testament to how stupid he is. He’s gone several months without hearing from Z, and he thinks he’s safe enough to come out of hiding for a weekend.

Honestly, I find it fitting. If he thought he could buy me and keep me as his personal sex slave without Zade finding him, surely he’d be confident enough to walk into a club and think he’ll come back out on his own free will.

The club he’ll be frequenting is geared towards those with dark desires. According to Zade’s research, all the women are there of their own free will, which will allow us to focus solely on Xavier.

That is nothing short of a blessing. It would be that much harder for the both of us to walk into a place where women are being trafficked or abused, and not take the entire building down.

And honestly, I would be worried for Zade if that were the case.

He has positively burnt down the world to find me, and he hasn’t stopped since. He tracked down Rocco’s friends, and several of the guests who attended the Culling and sent them all six feet under. Well, technically, they’re dust in the wind now.

Between training and keeping watch over me, to hunting down Claire, Xavier, my captors, and anyone that stepped foot in that house—I don’t know how he has any headspace left to think.

He tried to take down a few more auctions too, but I drew the line there and demanded he brings in his other mercenaries to take his place in the meantime. It didn’t take much to convince him, which only proved how exhausted he was.

He’s a machine, and lately, I’ve been having to coerce him with make-out sessions to get him to relax. The asshole succeeded in getting me addicted to his lips since the car chase, and I can’t even be mad when it’s the only thing that seems to keep either of us sane.

“You look beautiful,” a deep, baritone voice says from behind me. I turn to find Zade leaning against the doorframe to the mini suite, staring at me like I’m a glass of the finest whiskey, and he would kill for just a sip.

“Thank you,” I murmur, swiping my hands nervously over my dress. It’s a blood red strapless number, cut below the curve of my ass on one side and then dramatically tapers down, the silk flowing to my ankle on the other.

It reminds me of the dress I wore when he took me to Mark’s estate last year. Pretty sure I’ll never look at a red dress and not think of what he did to me in that movie theater.

Especially now, when he’s prowling towards me with my black and purple blade and a strap in his hand, accompanied by a devilish glint in his eyes.

I’m wearing five-inch black heels, yet still, I feel like a little girl standing next to Zade. He has to be pushing six-foot-six.

“Don’t forget these,” he says, holding up the knife and lacy strap. “You’re not going unprotected.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmur, enraptured by him. My heart clogs in my throat when he lowers himself before me.

“What are you doing?” I breathe, watching his long fingers reach out and grab my ankle. His touch feels electric, my leg twitching from the feel of his skin slowly grazing my skin. I hold my breath, my heart speeding as his hand disappears beneath the silk and travels farther up.

“Placing the crown on my queen,” he croons.

“What do you mean?” I mumble distractedly, shivering from the electric currents traveling up my leg.

“A crown symbolizes power. That’s what this knife is for you.”

I’m trembling, and liquid heat is pooling low in my stomach. Something I’m still getting used to feeling again whenever Zade is brave enough to touch me.

He’s grown more daring the past month, brushing up against me any chance he gets, and taking advantage of any excuse to touch me, his fingers always lingering longer than necessary. At night, when I’m lost in a nightmare, I let him hold me for a little while, feeling safer with him than I do in my own skin.

Sometimes in those moments, he’ll place soft kisses along my jaw, never pushing it too far, but familiarizing me with the feel of his affection. More and more, I crave it and seek it out. And lately, I’ve begun to feel like it’s not enough. Like I need more.

Sensing my growing arousal, he turns his head and places a soft kiss on my knee, peeking up at me through thick, black lashes. My teeth trap my bottom lip between them, and his eyes blaze in return.

Dropping his burning stare, he brushes the material of my dress to the side, both legs now bared. I decided to forgo panties with this dress, the silk too thin to conceal panty lines. If he lifted the material another inch, he’d be able to see between my thighs.

His nostrils flare, and I feel my face grow hot, flushing hotter when he leans in closer.

I can smell you.