Page 2 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

The ecstatic shudder threads through my nerves and heats my skin before I see it—the slight shift in the man standing with his back to me.

The heat grows as I look away from the sack of meat kneeling on the ground, and tingles of fear join the heartbeat.

The sheer force of the stranger’s gaze hits me deep enough in my belly that my breath tears from my chest. We’re connected by burning slivers of lightning searing through me until my hands tighten into fists to relieve the pressure.

Pure need makes me squeeze my thighs together.

But him... He is unmoving. A marble statue with shadowed eyes. The gun remains aimed at the kneeling man, but the sparkle in the abyss of his gaze fixes on me. I wonder what color his eyes are.

I can feel him in my bones. The crushing force of this moment threatens to bring me to my knees. It’s devastating, filled with cravings and potential desires.

Yet, there he is—unaffected.

With tightening fists I tear myself away from his heat. He has a job to do, and I’m invested in it now. The corner of my lip twitches in the grin that froze with his attention on me, and I break that treacherous gaze, looking down at the other man.

His gaze burns into my flesh like it wants to melt away each layer until he finds the answer to a question he will never ask. This feeling, this searing, is so new, so unfamiliar. It threatens to become addictive.

Fuck.

It will . . . it will become addictive.

My eyes widen when the man on the ground scrambles to rise, his gaze wild with fear, and the heat is gone abruptly; my skin turns cold. A split moment passes. A muffled pop pierces the silence just as the man’s head whips back, and he hits the concrete with a thudding crack.

Before the bullet split his skull, the brief realization of the coming death tore through his gaze.

The light left his eyes, and his consciousness with it.

And right there, in that moment, I found it.

That feeling I’ve been craving with my entire soul.

It’s raw. A heady mix of violence, fear, and unyielding satisfaction.

But something new snakes through—pleasure.

Shuddering, spine-tingling fervor. And it’s utterly terrifying.

My cheeks ache with the wide tug of my grin. I can’t help it. The sensation is electrifying. Even as the shooter’s shadow moves toward me, I’m unfazed.

This vengeance wasn’t mine, but for one sweet, violent moment, I felt it. It soothed my need for retribution. I’m energized. Alive.

I give myself one more heartbeat before I focus on the handsome stranger again.

On his high, carved cheekbones, and the deep shadows in the hollows beneath them.

On his short, perfectly straight nose and chiseled, square jaw.

And on the defined lips, neither thin nor plump, but enticingly full, nonetheless.

Enticingly full ... Oh my god. What is happening with me?

A stray strand of hair falls from the backswept mass atop his head and brushes against his thick, slightly curved eyebrows.

I don’t dare follow my exploration lower than his tattooed neck—the distraction far too great now—but I don’t need to see more to know that this six-foot-something hunk of a man is as gorgeous as he is dangerous.

He takes one more step, and the nerves around my spine pull me to straighten all at once.

I should be scared, but anticipation and exhilaration prevail, and fear seems to be the last thing on my mind.

At least, not the self-preserving kind of fear.

There’s a sizzle in the air, and I find it impossible to keep still as I shift my weight from one leg to the other. This man’s eerie silence doesn’t help.

“Did he really...traffic children?” I had to say something to cut this tension.

Plus, I have to stall. Judging from the chilling look he’s gracing me with, escaping might be my only chance at survival.

“Yes.”

His answer startles me.

I nod once, barely remembering the question. “Are there more?”

“More of...?” His brow shifts slightly, and I feel like he’s a teacher correcting my grammar.

“Children.”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t suffer . . .” I sigh.

“No, he did not. It was quick.” He speaks those words too abruptly, the sudden change in tone telling me he mistook my words for relief.

“Shame.” I shrug. “You should have made him suffer. Shoot the knees first.” I gesture toward the man on the ground. “Stomach after. I hear it hurts like hell. Dying from a stomach wound, that is. People like him don’t deserve a quick death. Make the next ones suffer.”

I look up in time to catch the slight twitch at the corner of his lips. No way was he about to smile. Somehow the expression would look foreign on his stern features.

“The next ones?” His low, slightly gravelly voice warms me as he bows his head, his gaze running up and down my body. He lingers on certain areas, sending a debilitating shiver through my flesh.

What the hell is wrong with you, Scarlet? This man is probably gonna kill you in the next two minutes!

“You spoke of an entire operation. So, there are more where he came from.”

“And you would like me to make them suffer.” His words are a question and a statement all at once.

I nod, regardless.

The silence settles once more. I don’t peg him as a man of many words, yet this quietness is charged with tension I can’t decipher.

It coils around my bones and muscles, tightening and pulling me further into the belly of the beast, closer to him.

Like some fucked-up calling toward some crazy-ass destiny.

I have to leave before I make yet another stupid decision.

“What now, kitten? ” He takes a small step into my personal space and only a couple of feet separate us.

But that’s not what startles me. The term of endearment does. Or is it a taunt?

“Now we mind our business. I’ll be on my merry way, and you can carry on with the culling ,” I say, laughing at my own words. “But seriously, it sounds like it’s imperative for your mission to be brought to its natural conclusion.”

I’m just about to take a shaky step back when the ground threatens to break open and swallow me whole.

Because the stranger smiles. An earth-splitting smile tainted with malice and promises of bloodshed, yet so devastating that I struggle not to fall into that crevasse.

If I do, he’ll have me forever. And the last thing I need is another charming asshole to ruin my life—figuratively or not.

“You seem intelligent enough to know that I can’t let you go. Not after you witnessed this.” Menace vibrates through his voice and straight into my nerves as he closes the distance between us and touches the barrel of the gun to my stomach, dragging it slowly upward.

Before I can stop it, a slight whimper breaks between my lips.

Our eyes widen at the same time—mine with embarrassment, his in surprise. I bite my lip, laughing as I enjoy the confusion wrinkling his forehead.

“I wasn’t expecting anything less than that,” I say with an amused confidence, which is growing at an alarming, reckless rate.

For some reason, the prospect of this man killing me—or trying to, anyway—thrills me, further fueling that reprieve I sought when I found myself in this predicament.

A loud bang shatters the silence, and I whip around as he takes a step to the side to look past me.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” He punctuates each word with such dominance that I almost obey him as he rushes out of the alley in search of the disturbance’s source.

But obeying him is the last thing I will do. For a smart man, it’s pretty silly of him to think I’ll simply stand here and await my execution.

With a sly grin on my face, I shake my head, watching his beautiful, tight ass move out of sight.

“Until we meet again,” I whisper into the night, then slip away in the familiar shadows.