Page 10 of Devour (Blood and Roses #1)

Ariel

M y heartbeat picks up a frantic pace, It’s just the two of us now. What is he planning to do to me? Is he going to kill me? Another sob threatens to break free, but I swallow it down.

I can’t die here. All I wanted was a quiet place to call Noah; to tell him I might not make it to the hospital tonight because I picked up an extra shift. I never thought I’d Walk into a nightmare… much less be accused of being a spy.

None of this makes sense. I don’t even understand what’s happening. Then I feel his hand behind my head—steady, controlled—as he unties the cloth wrapped around my eyes.

The moment it falls away, I squeeze them shut, afraid to see what comes next. What if he kills me just because I’ve seen his face?

“Look at me, kitten.”

His voice is calm, almost gentle but there’s a dangerous weight beneath it. One that makes my stomach twist with fear. I open my eyes.

My face is level with his chest. He growls low, and I slowly lift my gaze, my neck straining as I look up into his eyes. And everything inside me goes still.

Luca .

My breath catches. My eyes go wide. I should’ve recognized his voice…But the pounding in my chest had drowned out everything else.

“Please… let me go,” I whisper, barely able to speak. My voice trembles. He doesn’t answer right away. His stare pins me in place, cold, unreadable.

“I can’t,” he finally says. “You heard and saw something you shouldn’t have. If I let you walk out of here alone… you’ll be dead before you make it through the nearest door.” I shiver at his words.

He can’t possibly mean to kill me. I’m the mother of his child. But he doesn’t know that. And at this point, I don’t think I ever want him to. I don’t know who he is anymore.

This man—this stranger—he isn’t the Luca I once knew. My lips tremble, my throat dry as sand. “What do I have to do… to get out of this?”

He doesn’t speak. Just lets his gaze fall, slow and deliberate to my boobs, then drags it back to my face.

“Be mine,” he says coldly. “Satisfy me… until I’m tired of you.”

My heart sinks.

“And when you’re tired of me?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

He shrugs casual, indifferent. Like my life means nothing.

“Pray I don’t,” he says.

Then he leans in. Slowly. His breath brushes my skin as he reaches behind me to untie the bindings around my wrists.

His scent fills my lungs, masculine smell, mixed with the faint odor of tobacco and scotch.

My heart stutters in my chest. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just breathe—shallow and quick, wondering if I’ve just made a deal with the devil. He stands to his full height.

“Get up.”

I scramble to my feet, not daring to hesitate, afraid he might change his mind. His grip is firm as he grabs my arm and pulls me through the door.

We passed a few of his men. One of them stops mid-punch at a bag to stare. Others glance our way—some with smirks, others with pity in their eyes. Like they think I’m a walking corpse.

My gaze flicks to the one who hit me. If looks could kill, his glare would’ve dropped me on the spot. I quickly look away.

Luca doesn’t stop until we’re inside one of the club’s VVIP rooms. The contrast is jarring—upstairs, everything gleams with glamour and music; “Bad Intentions” by Niykee Heaton is playing. Down there, it shadows and secrets.

If someone had told me there was an underground basement beneath Eden’s Club where shady deals, interrogations, and God knows what else took place, I would’ve laughed. Now I know better.

He pours himself a drink, the crystal glass catching the dim light, then sinks into the leather lounge chair facing me. My throat tightens. Now what?

Does he want me to strip like last time while he fucks me over his desk? I glance at the low table. It wouldn’t work. I’d have to get on all fours, my ass high in the air, and even then, I probably wouldn’t reach his ribs.

This man looks like a freaking 6 feet 6 inches of pure intimidation. Or maybe he wants me to stand on the table this time…His voice snaps me out of the spiral.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, his gaze heavy. “Dance.”

He nods toward the chrome pole in the center of the table. I hesitate, then slowly climb up. My fingers wrap around the cold metal, I hear “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak plays.

This is… better than what I feared. I’m not much of a dancer. But I’ve watched the Strippers. I’ve picked up some moves. Enough to survive this night.

So, I move like my life depends on it because it does. I let the music consume me as I move around the pole, my hips swaying and moving sensually to the music.

His gaze never leaves me as he leans back in his chair, taking a casual sip from the glass. As the song nears its end, I slide down the pole and squat low, spine curved, hips tilted toward him.

One hand wrap around the metal behind me, and the other slips between my parted knees, resting lightly on my inner thigh.

I don’t dare meet his eyes, but I can feel his stare devouring every inch of me.