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My eyes instantly swing to the metal beads glinting around the back of his neck before disappearing into this white T-shirt.

My pulse pounds in my ears, loud enough that I can barely hear my own thoughts. I swallow the lump in my throat and pull the scattered pieces of the puzzle together. “You’re not gay or bi.”

“No.”

Okay. “And your real name isn’t Rocky Savage, although Hector and Delilah think it is. Which means you’re not really a trafficker”

“No. I’m not a trafficker.”

Relief courses through me, but it’s followed by a sinking dread. “You also made those submissives think you were a Dom, right?”

“Correct.”

“You must have studied them. Stalked them. Earned their trust. Took their submission. And eventually, their lives.”

Cade's smile widens, and something like pride flickers across his face—like a teacher pleased with his star pupil’s deduction.

“And Hector?” The words scrape past my lips as I lean closer. “You did the same to him. You earned his trust and spent time getting into the ‘Rocky Savage’ character for him.”

Then he murmurs, soft enough that I nearly miss it, “You are so fucking smart, Luciana.”

Instinct screams at me to stop, to back off, but I’m too far in now. My own curiosity has become a noose, tightening around me. “You pick your targets, groom them, and execute them all in an identical way.”

The truck begins to slow as we approach a stoplight. Cade turns his head, slowly, deliberately, locking his piercing green eyes onto mine.

“Go on,” he commands, daring me to finish what I’ve started.

Panic claws at my throat, but beneath it, a strange certainty begins to settle. Leaving me with a truth so dark, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“You’re a serial killer,” I whisper.

As the light bleeds to green, Cade turns away with the languid grace of a satisfied cat. And I realize I’m sitting next to a man who turns people’s deepest desires into designer deaths.

He intends to kill Antonov for his interest in Flavia. But it was my father who proposed that marriage.

Does that mean he plans to strangle Papa, too? Am I part of his revenge on Papa? Has he picked his target? Is that why he “saved” me? Because me getting kidnapped would get in the way?

Every interaction between us rushes through my mind. None of it was real. None. He’s been pretending. Getting me to trust him. Reeling me in with my own lust. That’s why he let me touch him, kiss him, toy with him.

I’ve been a willing participant in my own destruction.

My eyes dart to the door handle.Could I throw myself out?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the red line indicating the locked door. It’s not going to open while the vehicle is in motion.

I’m trapped.

And because I enjoy torturing myself, I continue questioning him.

“So, how many people have you killed?”

He sighs. “It’s hard to put a number on it, princess.”

He makes it sound like I asked him how many books he’s read in his life.

I force myself to breathe normally. “Any women?”

His eyes don’t shift from the road. “Not yet.”