Page 52

“Show me,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

Alex is my personal signal blocker, stopping any coherent thoughts from going anywhere past my brain and leaving my mouth to its own devices.

“What?”

“Show me.”

He watches me for a tense second, nostrils flaring, but then he does the impossible; he slips off his shirt in one quick swoop, revealing his torso.

My mouth goes dry and then fills up with saliva as I stare back at him. When he was tied up in that chair, I didn’t get a good look at him, but now I see him fully. He’s still incredibly lean, but it’s clear he works out. A few years in the Organised Crime Unit and proper feeding has him trim and cut, broad shoulders tapering into a small waist.

I keep my breathing steady as my eyes land on the ink of the tattoo and once again I’m back in Summit, letting him pull me in even when I know I should stay far away.

The air is charged with something, like electricity coursing between us. Before I can stop myself, I’m reaching forward, my right hand resting on his waist and my left, running my thumb over the ink of the tattoo.

I feel him flinch in my hold, but thankfully, he doesn’t push me away. I like that he lets me touch him. I meet his eyes and even though I know I should let him go; I don’t. I just stand there, holding his waist.

“Rowan.”

“Alex.”

“Please kiss me,” he says, voice almost too quiet to hear over the buzzing in my head.

My thumb stops moving and I stare at him, trying to compute the words.

No.

This is wrong.

This isn’t how this is supposed to go, but I still don’t move away when I whisper a hard, “No.”

He blinks once, hurt flashing across his eyes. I hate that it doesn’t make me as happy as it should. I hate that I feel guilty for making him look at me like that.

I hate him.

“Rowan,” he says my name again, his voice so quiet I can barely hear him. It sounds like a plea, like he’s asking me for something that I don’t think either of us should give. And yet, all I’d have to do is lean in and he’d be mine.

But that isn’t what I want. I want to ruin him. I want him to pay for everything he’s done.

Don’t I?

I close my eyes, clenching my jaw and take a step back, letting him go and hating the feeling of nothing on my palms.

“No,” I say again, this time more to myself rather than to him.

Disappointment flares in his eyes and somehow that’s worse than any look he’s given me so far.

I should hate him. He should be dead.

But I don’t and he isn’t.

I back away again, desperate to keep as much distance between us because none of the emotions flowing inside me make any sense right now. Everything is going up and down at the same time.

Bringing him here was a terrible fucking idea.

Whether Alex is playing me or not, whether he wants me to kiss him or not; I can’t risk it. I can’t risk the chance to become The Head of The Snake one day. He jeopardises any chance of that.

“I should go,” he announces abruptly, keeping his eyes away from me.