Page 4

Tabitha

“…sending her back.”

The first thing she heard when she woke was Grit’s voice, low and calm. Better than any music, in her opinion. It had been in her head last night as she fell asleep, quietly crooning to her about some ridiculous story that he’d probably made up.

She loved the rumble of it, the soothing cadence.

“No. I can protect her here. She needs more than dumping in a holding cell until someone tracks down the asshole siccing everyone on her.”

Bathroom, she decided, visualizing the direction of his voice. She felt wrung out, too exhausted to open her eyes. Her body was heavy, almost bruised, and there was a nagging feeling telling her something wasn’t right.

“Come on, Jasper, you don’t have time to deal with this. If I send her back, she’s going to spend the next few weeks of her life in a goddamn cell, alone. Just about everyone in the office is petrified of her; none of them are going to keep her company. The only ones who aren’t terrified are the ones who know her, and all of you have caseloads, families, random fucking dramas. It’s not happening.”

Groaning, Tabitha frowned. What the hell was he talking about? She wasn’t going anywhere she didn’t want to go. Coming here last night was an indulgent mistake; she’d been uncharacteristically lonely, and Ashford had struck her insecurities during that brief phone call.

The contract on her head needed to be dealt with, which meant getting back to Ireland and hunting down the cowardly prick who’d set a dozen crosshairs on her forehead.

Ireland was going to be a nightmare. Normally, she had no ties to hinder her, but given how homesick she’d felt while dealing with Luca… handling business across the water while Grit was here sat uncomfortably in her stomach.

How the hell he’d convinced her head or her stone cold heart to latch onto him, she didn’t know. Her ability to distance herself from clingy emotions was something she prided herself on, and now it was as useful as a dead dog.

“Christ, I’m not going to molest her, J. Give me some damn credit. I keep her here, she stays out of trouble. She has company, she’s happy, she’s safe.” Grit sounded exasperated. “No, she didn’t try to kill me in her sleep. Honestly, she was so fucking tired, she slept through the night. I put the restraints on her just in case, but she hasn’t been an issue.”

That nagging feeling warning her something was wrong? It began to throb like a second heartbeat, pulsing in her belly as she opened her eyes and stared at the thin leather binders smothering her arms from fingers to mid-forearm.

As soon as she saw them, she felt them. The constriction, the pressure from the straps buckled around her forearms in two places, the way the leather molded to her hands so she couldn’t dislocate her thumbs to slide them free.

The sound she made was sheer, unadulterated panic in its purest form.

The chain securing the binders’ D-links was lengthy, sufficient enough it didn’t hinder her movement or make her feel tied down, but just the fact she was restrained, unable to defend herself, brought memories crashing down.

They weren’t cuffs, she told herself. She could fight like the tiger Grit called her and still not rip the flesh on her wrists to pieces like she had when she was a kid.

Her heart bounced against her ribs, rocketed into her throat, and almost choked her as the panic swelled and grew claws.

Even telling herself that Grit wouldn’t tie her up and leave her in a room full of strange men, wouldn’t force her to try and defend herself with both hands bound, didn’t quell her terror.

She was a fool, an idiot. She’d trusted him and been caught.

How the fuck had she gotten so comfortable she’d slept through him strapping her into the damn things? How had she continued to sleep wearing them?

“Leave, leave, leave,” she gasped, attacking the straps and buckles with her teeth. The taste of leather and metal bit her tongue, saliva making the stupid things slippery as her stomach revolted and drool filled her mouth. “Paw in the trap, the hunter kills the cat. The cat was fucking na?ve and doesn’t deserve a reprieve.”

“J, I gotta go. She’s awake. I’m not arguing with you over this—she’s staying right where she is.” In the bathroom doorway, Grit filled the space. Damp from a shower, steam swirling from behind him, he wore nothing but a pair of boxers and a concerned frown. “I’ll update you later, just focus on tracking down the Irish fucker.”

Tabitha gave up trying to bite her way through the binders, rolling off the bed and lurching away from him as he approached cautiously. She got six feet away from the bed before the chain yanked taut.

“Easy, little tiger.” Grit tossed the phone on the bed before holding both hands up. “Don’t struggle, you’ll only hurt yourself. I’ll take the restraints off when you calm down.”

Fight or flight kicked in like a double-barrel blow from a mule. Channeling the panic into a more useful emotion, she shoved her fear back into the vault and slammed the door behind it.

Last night, she’d broken every rule in the goddamn book. Every damn one. Volunteering information about herself, expressing emotions, letting him put his hands on her. Sitting in the tub like a spaced-out junkie, losing herself in his voice, surrendering little pieces of herself to a fucking mercenary.

No surrender.

It was the one thing she promised herself on every job. Two words she’d inked into her skin by her own hand when she was nineteen and determined to be more than what her father demanded, to never be taken advantage of and used again.

To never surrender anything of herself in the event of capture.

To go down fighting right until the end.

In a moment of weakness, she’d betrayed herself. Denying it was futile; she was a failure, a disgrace to her personal values, all because her moronic body decided it needed a male to satisfy something hormonal in her.

“The binders stay on until you calm down,” Grit reiterated slowly, approaching with a stance that screamed ambush. “Get your breathing under control, Tabitha.”

Oh, he really didn’t want her to be in control of anything. Once the panic receded and the fog in her brain cleared, she was back on form, assessing and planning the fastest route to getting what she wanted—freedom.

Pulling on the chain, she felt the binders tighten around her wrists, just below the heels of her palms. Predicament bondage binders, seriously? He was a tricky fucker, she thought, seething in silence. The more she fought to get them off, the tighter they became.

“It seems bad,” the asshole said casually. “I get that, but you don’t have to be afraid. Being naked and bound has to be unnerving, especially with your history. I’m not a threat to you, Tabitha; I want to keep you safe.”

Wait, what? Alarmed, she glanced down at herself, her mouth dropping open as she realized, yeah, she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on. Not even a bra or panties to protect her modesty.

All of her was on full display from tits to toes and every inch in between. Her body was a weapon, one she was proud of because she’d forged it. Her muscles were toned to perfection because she’d put the work in to hone them for a singular purpose.

Be stronger, faster, more deadly than any opponent.

But having her female weaknesses—breasts, pussy, ass—exposed this way… it was one hell of a trigger. They were the places men liked to hurt, causing pain on a level she never wanted to experience again. She’d broken bones, torn muscles, taken fists to the face. She was no stranger to concussions, had spent hours stitching together wounds in her own damn flesh.

Dominic had taught her how to use sex as a weapon, and in doing so, she’d learned to be afraid of what she was on an elemental scale.

Anxiety throbbed at her temples; fury blinded her.

Dropping her shoulder, Tabitha charged at Grit as though she had an army at her back. The weight of the chain hindered her slightly, the length throwing her off-balance as it caught on the corner of the mattress.

Rather than ramming her shoulder into his ridiculous six-pack stomach, she slammed into him sideways, connecting with a hard thud that knocked the breath from her lungs.

Fuck, she needed her hands. It was impossible to balance her weight without her arms to counter her momentum. As she staggered, she felt his thick forearm curl around her torso, just below her breasts, and stomped on his bare foot in response.

“Christ, I guess you’re feeling more like yourself this morning.” He grunted when her elbow dug into his belly, her repeated jabs battering those stark muscles. “Don’t make me get rough with you, little tiger. If I have to sedate you, I—”

The sound she made wasn’t human. She still bore the track marks in the crooks of her elbows, the backs of her hands, even on her feet, from where Rita spent hours jabbing needles under her flesh, utilizing every available vein to pump drugs into Tabitha’s system.

No surrender.

Twisting in his hold, she landed three hard kicks on his thigh in quick succession, one satisfyingly close to his precious jewels. She aimed the fourth at his knee, hoping to disable him long enough to pin him down and force him into releasing her hands, but he recovered faster than she gave him credit for.

She found herself on her back on the bed, smothering beneath the heat and bulk of a fully mature male. His chest pressed against her breasts, her legs spreading to accommodate the width of his hips. Skin against skin, and only the thin material of his boxers preventing his cock from defiling her core.

Coldness enveloped her, washing over her from her scalp down. Sweat followed in its wake, springing over her skin with every tiny sip of air she sucked into her lungs.

She was better than this. She was better than him. So he’d disabled her hands with these godawful leather mitten-slash-condoms—so what? If he wanted to take her out of commission altogether, he should’ve gagged, hog-tied, and vacuum-sealed her from head to fucking toe because her entire body was a weapon.

Only… she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

“An inch or two higher,” Grit told her in a stern voice, “and that kick would’ve turned me into a soprano.” In a rapid switch of mood, he grinned. “Good effort, though. How scared are you now on a scale of one to ten, little tiger?”

Despite her repeated mental orders not to take the bait, she croaked, “Three hundred and eleven.”

“No wonder your hair’s this color. That level of fear is detrimental to your health.” Dropping the humor, he shook his head slowly. “This is a predicament, Tabitha.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I hate seeing you afraid and knowing I’m the cause. If I move, all you learn is that panicking sets you free; we both know that’s bullshit. An enemy isn’t going to be considerate of the circumstances when he’s where I am now. He’s going to take advantage of it, drinking in your fear like it’s a fine wine.” He ran his nose along her jawline, inhaling as though he could smell her terror. “This is your fatal flaw, little tiger. This is what gets you killed despite all your training and skills. We need to work on that.”

“N-No.”

“Besides,” he continued without acknowledging her pathetic, stuttering protest, “I underestimated how nicely you fit me. So, I’m going to stay exactly where I am until you either pass out from the anxiety attack I feel brewing inside you, or you relax. Tough love, I know, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Nothing she said would get him to move, she realized. Stubborn as a jackass, this Dom was too much like her brothers—they were immovable once they set their minds on something. They got what they wanted, regardless of what it cost.

Maybe threatening to throw up would do the trick? Nobody liked vomit, for good reason. Emetophilia certainly wasn’t in her repertoire of bait fetishes, and she could only hope Grit wasn’t into it.

“Gonna be sick,” she wheezed.

Completely unconcerned, those oddly compelling eyes studied her patiently. He was taking stock of her breathing, her movements, her facial expressions and—she was willing to bet—her pulse. When his mouth quirked at the corner in an almost-smile, she knew she’d lost the gamble.

“Liar, liar,” he murmured salaciously. “Which part of you is on fire?”

“A t-threat is not a lie.”

“Semantics, little tiger.”

Tabitha stiffened as he lowered his head, his lips skimming her collarbone. It felt as though tiny sparks of electricity fired where they made contact. “Rory…”

“I like hearing my name in that breathy voice. Most people just call me Grit, but I’ll make an exception for you.” Kisses pecked up the side of her neck. “When I take on a new sub, I like to lay out three basic rules.”

“I-I’m not a sub.” Damn it, why couldn’t she stop stuttering like an imbecile?

“Maybe, maybe not. Coming here to me gives you an opportunity to find out. It’s okay to be tired of being strong all the time, Tabitha. The weight on your shoulders, your past, your career… walk on this path with me for a while and I’ll carry that weight for you.” Grit nuzzled along her jaw, finding a spot below her ear that sent a shiver rippling down her spine. “I demand three things from anyone in my bed.”

“Three, three, three said the mouse to the flea,” she muttered in a sing-song tone, then grimaced. Now was not the time for the random rhymes she often used as a coping mechanism to blurt out like verbal insanity diarrhea.

He chuckled and rolled the lobe of her ear between his teeth, a pleased sound emanating in his chest when her hips rose subtly of their own volition. “So, number one: honesty. No lies, no half-truths, no harmless little fibs. When I ask a question, I get an honest answer. Because I’m an equality kind of guy, I’ll give you the same respect.”

That gave him unprecedented access to her head, Tabitha thought with distress. All the memories she’d barricaded ten feet down, all the feelings she repressed because Dominic’s progeny weren’t allowed to feel… everything she came from and was would be an open book for him to poke through at his leisure.

“Number two runs on the same tracks as number one: communication. I’m guessing talking wasn’t big in your family, right? And working on your own, living independently hasn’t opened up a lot of avenues for you to communicate openly and…”

“Honestly,” she whispered.

His lips curved against her neck. “Exactly. Consider those avenues wide open, Tabitha. There’ll be no closing yourself off, shutting down, hiding where you think I can’t reach you; I will always find a way to get to you. When you’re in pain or afraid, it’s my job to help. The only way I can do that is to listen.”

The scratch of his beard over her skin turned her tense muscles to putty. Without realizing it, the cadence of his voice and the gentle caress of his lips here and there were lulling her into complacency.

“Number three will be the hardest for you,” he warned her. “Can you guess what it is?”

Following the path from the first two, she could, and he was right—it was the hardest thing for her to give. Yet on some level she had no control over, her fate was already sealed. She almost choked on the single word. “Trust.”

“Beautiful and smart. Good girl, hitting the nail on the head. I need you to trust me, Tabitha. No pretenses, no illusions. I need you to believe I won’t hurt you. That you’re safe with me no matter what I do or say.” He braced himself on one arm, reaching up to brush a lock of hair off her forehead. “I’m your rock, a shoulder to cry on, your voice of reason. Trust me to be all that and more.”

Dominic’s voice echoed in her head from the grave, turning low and menacing the way it always did when he was in lecture mode. I didn’t train you to be the best, only for you to surrender yourself to a man. Kill the fucker before he ruins everything I forged.

The internal struggle was far too real. She’d forever be a product of her father’s creation; there was no changing that. Years upon years of daily training, punishment, and verbal lectures ensured she would never be normal.

But she’d learned, hadn’t she, that when Dominic objected to something, it was because it went against his agenda, and she was all about defying him at every possible opportunity despite the fact he was dead and rotting.

Would it be so bad to have someone to lean on for once? Wasn’t that what she craved each time she snuck into Grit’s hotel room to watch him sleep? It wasn’t about casing a hit; when he slept, even when he was awake, he exuded a kind of peace she yearned to snuggle into, close her eyes, and just absorb into her own ragged system.

“That’s a lot,” she managed to say, her throat clicking audibly as she swallowed. Trying to adopt a cocky tone, she forced her mouth into a smile faker than her favorite wig. “How about we aim for one?”

“All or nothing, Tabitha.”

“Two?” she asked hopefully.

“All or nothing.”

Baring her teeth, she resisted sinking them into his exposed throat and biting through something vital. He was stubborn, but then so was she. “What if I choose nothing?”

His face fell into neutral lines. “I feed you, help you get dressed, and call Jasper to tell him he should expect you in Phoenix later this evening. Until the threat to your safety is terminated, you’ll remain in his custody.”

Pfft, that wasn’t much of a deterrent. The holding cells in Atticus’s headquarters were insufficient to hold her. A day or two to come up with a plan, and she’d be free without too much hassle. She wouldn’t kill whichever hapless guards her brother assigned to her, of course, but it had been far too long since she’d had the pleasure of hearing skulls crack together.

“It’ll be an easier visit than you believe,” Grit told her, the bastard reading her thoughts effortlessly. “You’ll be sedated before you leave here, again when you land. Morning and night. Jasper isn’t as distracted as you think he is, little tiger. He’s well aware how dangerous you are, and he’ll take the necessary steps to protect anyone who comes in contact with you, just as fiercely as he’ll protect you.”

Huh. Yes, well, that might throw a wrench in her plans. She’d break any hand that came at her with a needle, followed by an arm or two if she was feeling malicious, but all it took was a second’s distraction and she’d be mindless and drooling before she knew it.

“I don’t want to be your sex bunny.”

Surprise widened his eyes before they lit with laughter. “No one can mistake you for a bunny, Tabitha. You are a tiger, through and through. Besides, I think earning intimacy with you will take time and a lot of that trust you’re understandably reluctant to offer.”

The heavy sensation in her belly abated. She went limp beneath him, relieved that the painful tension in her back and shoulders gave her a reprieve. The ache in her core, however, continued to simmer where no touch could reach.

“Am I to be kept in these binders and sedated?” she asked. “Same prison, different cage?”

“That begs the question, are you going to behave? Promise me you will, that you won’t stray from my sight, and I’ll remove the restraints.”

The binders were her biggest obstacle. He’d chosen well, she admitted grudgingly. They fit almost perfectly without discomfort, were cleverly designed for the predicament bondage, and she couldn’t remove them by dislocating any of her digits. The buckles were damn near welded into the material, so her only way to get out of them was to literally chew through the leather.

G.I.Dom wasn’t going to let her do that.

“I don’t like—”

“Shush. What you like, what you want, and all the don’ts will come later. I’ll find out for myself how far I can push you, little tiger, at my own peril.” He trailed kisses down her cheek, his nose trailing in their wake. “All you have to tell me now is whether you’d rather go to your brother or stay here with me.”

“This is… frightening,” she hissed as though afraid her enemies might hear her and use the weakness against her.

“I know. The truth is, it’s going to get worse before it gets better, Tabitha. I’ll never harm you, but this journey is going to hurt. I’ll ask things of you that have been done before without care, open wounds that you’ll fight like hell to keep closed.” He hummed low in his throat. “Though you won’t want to believe me, I’ll give you pleasure in spades.”

Copper stung her mouth. She wasn’t interested in pleasure. When the time came to take his cock, she’d do so with as much grace and self-control as she could muster. Embarrassing herself further by begging, crying, fighting wasn’t going to happen; she’d use all her father’s lessons to make damned sure she at least maintained some semblance of her dignity.

Tabitha shifted beneath him, her breath hitching as the thick length of him rubbed over her pussy. Belatedly, it dawned on her that her panties were wet along the gusset, soaking up the secretions a man made when he was erect and unfulfilled.

“Fine, I’ll stay. Only because I don’t particularly care to be drugged out of my head for the rest of eternity,” she informed him dismissively, “and I’d hate to murder my brother if he tried to knock me out.”

“Always a good reason. So, ready to seal the deal, little tiger?”

She jerked her bound hands to make a point. “Well, I would, but I’m a bit tied up for handshakes right now.”

Grit laughed. “You are, but that isn’t how I intend to do this.” His lips touched one corner of her mouth, then the other. “A simple one, for now. If you want more, then you take it.”

Simple what? More what?

The kiss was soft, no more than a testing feather of his lips across hers before they pressed firmly.

No, no, nope.

She recoiled, an image of Dominic’s face transposing over Grit’s. Eyes the color of her own bore into her head, alive with madness and lust no father should ever feel toward his flesh and blood. She remembered the pressure of his tongue trying to force through the tight line of her lips, the way he grabbed her wrist and twisted it until the bones cried and her mouth opened in a silent cry of pain.

Her cheeks ached as she recalled how he slammed his hand over her face, his fingers digging into her bones after she bit him in an effort to stop his advances, how his palm covered her nose and mouth, blocking her breathing until spots danced over her vision.

Wrenching her head to the side, Tabitha hauled in a breath. Because her insides were quivering with memories, she let words babble out in a jumbled rush. “Run, run, run went the rabbit. Being scared is a very bad habit. She didn’t stop and look, and got hit by a truck. Die, die, die went the rabbit; living was the last of her habits.”

“All right, sweetheart. We need to move slower, that’s fine.” Gentle fingers slid around her nape, squeezing just enough to divert her attention away from sickening recollections. “I guess that’s today’s task to work on.”

“The bird and the bee were best of friends,” she mumbled, only partly aware of Grit tackling the buckles on one of the binders. “They liked to play games and set impossible trends. An argument broke out with a scream and a shout, and the bee—”

Fingers covered her mouth lightly, stilling the words. “The bird and the bee had makeup sex, raised a brood of weird bee-chick kids, and lived happily ever after. The teller of their story took a fucking breath and calmed herself until she remembered where she was, and that she was safe.”

Her eyes locked on his, anchoring herself in his presence. The first breath was hard won, a hefty inhale through her nose. The second wasn’t quite as difficult, and the ones that came after became gradually easier than the last.

Oh, that panic attack was sneaky, she thought in dismay. Even her manic ramblings weren’t enough to disguise it from Grit, and that was simply unacceptable.

Crazy Tabitha was the only thing concealing her weak and damaged core from onlookers—it was so much a part of her now that she’d welded the fa?ade into her personality immaculately.

Rory McCabe saw right through her to what she truly was.

The binders slid off her arms with a soft thud, releasing her from their torture. Flexing her fingers, Tabitha gathered her scattered wits. It took a few minutes, seeing as Grit kept exploding them like shrapnel, and she was grateful he said nothing while she composed herself.

Finally, she gave a sad laugh. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“We’ve been heading toward it for an hour,” he disagreed. “Now we dig in for the long haul because you’re one hell of a project.” He rubbed his bearded cheek lightly across her—thankfully—hairless one. “I seem to have a day off. Why don’t we put it to good use by ordering in breakfast, then getting to know each other more?”

She lifted her eyebrow. Most men she knew would be figuring out a way to drill their cock through her panties to get inside her, yet he was willing to walk away? Yes, he was aware she was afraid—so had the others who’d taken their pleasure from her, reveling in her pain and her fear until they rutted into her and came. “There’s the not so small matter of your…”

“Raging erection?” he supplied with a grin.

“Yes, that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’ll subside once I put some distance between it and your pretty pussy. Contrary to popular belief, men don’t actually die from cases of blue balls.” With a groan, he kissed her forehead before rolling off her onto his back. “I’ve survived much worse than penile discomfort.”

Keeping her eyes averted, Tabitha sat up. “I’ll go order room service; you take care of that.”

“All right,” he agreed easily, then his voice deepened. “Set one foot outside the door, little tiger, and you won’t like the consequences. If I have to chase you around the hotel, across the damn city, you’ll spend the rest of your time with me trapped in those binders, reliant on me for everything from feeding you to wiping your ass. Are we clear on that?”

Cockily, she gave him a salute as she slid off the bed. “Promises, promises, whispered the flustered girl, leaving the man to jack off in his own little world.”

“Get on with you, smart ass. I’ll have the breakfast platter, extra bacon, double the eggs, and a side plate of waffles.”

“How are you not fat?”

“Superior metabolism.” The swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip was definitely suggestive. “And a whole lot of jacking off.”

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she found the soft robe he’d brought her last night and covered herself up. It was easier to banter with him now he wasn’t looming over her. “Your dirty personal habits are nothing to do with me.”

His laughter followed her from the room.

*

Grit

“Hmm, I see I need to educate you in the wonders of the magic box.”

Tabitha’s hand paused halfway to her mouth, the glass of pineapple juice already tilting toward her lips. “This is what you meant by getting to know each other better? You belittling my lack of television and movie experience?”

“Well, so far we’ve established that you’ve missed some of the greatest on-screen masterpieces in the history of humankind.” Grit pointed his fork at her. “Granted, that’s not entirely your fault, although I do believe you could’ve made some effort to rectify that deficiency. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m going to correct that oversight after breakfast.”

“Perhaps I have other plans.”

He grinned at her nonchalant tone. “Little tiger, we both know any plans you have include me. As I’m technically your captor for the foreseeable future, I get to make all the decisions.” Stabbing a chunk of waffle, he let his grin widen before popping the morsel in his mouth. “Honestly, I’m more intrigued that you haven’t left so much as a smudged fingerprint on social media.”

“I utilize it if and when I need it.”

“To stalk people.”

She sipped her juice, her tongue sweeping out to catch a stray drop before it rolled off the edge of her lip. “Social media is the devil’s tool, Grit. Millions of people on each platform detailing their daily lives, their favorite places, what makes them tick and is most precious to them. They share pictures with strangers, share parts of themselves that can’t be taken back.”

He couldn’t disagree with that.

“For someone like me, it’s a map. Where does my target check in for coffee every morning? Which route do they take on their way to work, the mall, home? Is that four-legged bundle of joy they call Boo-Boo and dress up like a fucking doll a Chihuahua or a Malinois capable of ripping my throat out?”

Grit snorted. “I’d take a Malinois over a Chihuahua any day.”

“I’ve been attacked by both.” Swapping the glass for her spoon, she delved into her bowl of Lucky Charms. “The Chihuahuas were kicked over the fence easily enough, but the Malinois…” She smiled to herself as though the memory was a fond one. “That bitch hounded me up a goddamn drainpipe, then met me on the garage roof.”

“Please don’t tell me you kicked her over the fence too?”

“Of course not. Just off the roof.”

“Tabitha!”

Blue eyes glistening, she adopted an innocent expression. “What? I was killing small, defenseless animals before I knew the multiplication table. It was Rita’s favorite test. Exterminate any sense of compassion or empathy from an early age.”

That was Rita, he thought suspiciously. Tabitha had proven she was different more than once. “Nah, I don’t believe that. A person? Yeah, you’d shove your foot up their ass and give them a cheery wave as you pitched them over the edge, but a dog… maybe when your survival depended on it. Other than that, I call bullshit.”

A spoonful of cereal vanished between her lips; she chewed slowly, thoughtfully. “You wanted honesty.”

She was a tricky one, he reminded himself. She prided herself on being truthful anyway, without her agreement to follow his rules. “So the Chihuahuas went over the fence, and the Malinois took a dive off the roof. What happened to them?”

“The little ones landed on the neighbor’s trampoline.” Her lips twitched. “The big bitch took a swim in her master’s pool.”

“There’s a heart in there, after all.”

“Not the kind you think,” she argued. “Killing them didn’t serve a purpose, so why do it? They behaved as any dog would when faced with an intruder; the Malinois was simply doing as she was trained. Unless an annoyance becomes an insurmountable problem, there are ways to get around it.”

“Because you might force that annoyance into being a problem.”

“Exactly.”

“How did we go from movies to work?” he asked, shaking his head.

Tabitha looked sad, her loaded spoon poised midair. “It’s me. My conversational skills aren’t much use unless I talk about what I’m good at—murder is kinda the sum total of that.”

“At least we have something in common. Might be awkward otherwise.”

She laughed and let the spoon drop. “The only reason I’m here is because of you. If it was anyone else, if you were different, I’d already be on my way to Ireland.”

He thought as much. While she’d been ordering breakfast, giving him some alone time, he’d wondered when she was planning on heading back there to deal with the threat directly. “It’s being handled, Tabitha.”

“Ding dong rang the bell,” she murmured, “and everything went to hell.”

“No more rhymes, little tiger.” Grit admonished her gently. “I’m learning your tells, and you rhyme when things get uncomfortable. Just like I think you’re not quite as looney tunes as you like people to believe.”

Regret flashed in her eyes. “I thought that too, once. There are fractions of memories where I felt normal, but the older I got, it became simpler to use that manic energy as a shield. Eventually, the shield lost its effectiveness, so I threw more energy into building it until it consumed me. My lucid periods have grown shorter and shorter, and now I coexist with a beast who does what it wants.”

He’d seen that for himself. Sometimes the speed at which she flipped from one mentality to another was dizzying, but he could admit he believed she did it of her own volition. Guilt grabbed him by the balls when he realized she was a victim of her own mind.

“Have you considered your crazy side comes out more when you’re working?”

Tabitha frowned at her cereal. “My childhood was basically a constant lesson in bloodshed, Grit. Day in, day out. How to spill it, how to stop it. How to drain every last drop and use it to send a message. How to utilize my body, my own blood, to suck in a target so I could painstakingly take their life away one drop at a time.”

He lifted an eyebrow, waiting silently for an answer to his question.

“Yes,” she admitted slowly. “The crazy is more prevalent when I have a job to do. In some respect, I need it to be able to… perform.”

“Do you get a lot of… performance anxiety?”

“No.” It was too quick, too sharp to be anything but defensive.

Setting his fork down, Grit pushed his plate away, leaning his elbows on the table. Steepling his fingers together, he regarded her with his dominant stare. “Lying earns you five spanks, Tabitha. Don’t tell me that wasn’t a lie,” he admonished before she could argue. “I know you believe in honesty down to the bone, but you are capable of bending that rule to keep yourself safe. I’m telling you it isn’t necessary with me.”

The full lower lip he’d had pressed to his not so long ago depressed under the pressure of her teeth. Her expression became sullen, her eyes unable to meet his. “It’s not performance anxiety, per se. I can gut and fillet a man in my goddamn sleep. It’s just… occasionally… I get caught up in things.”

“Things being murder?”

“Dominic was a clever man. Between his training tactics and the experimental drugs Rita pumped into us, he instilled a craving inside us. Darius and the others feel it too—an insatiable urge to do the unspeakable.” Some of that madness shone in her eyes now as they lifted to meet his. “Cut, maim, disassemble. The way a blade slides through flesh, the crack of bones when they break. He made it so every torture is a drug, every kill is the high. He turned us into addicts, Grit, and scoring a fix is our only priority.”

“Does Jasper…”

She shook her head slowly. “Not that he’s told me. He was the first of us, you see. The original generation. Rita’s skills weren’t as developed then, and Dominic’s training methods weren’t as practiced. It took a few years and a lot of bodies before they had what they considered the perfect technique.”

“So where did it all go wrong? If their system of production, training, and distribution was so damn good, how did it all come crashing down around their ears? I mean,” he said with the slightest scoff in his voice, “it must have been a multimillion-dollar enterprise.”

Beautifully soft laughter filled the room. “Now you’re fishing for information, naughty boy. If you want to know how much I’m worth, all you have to do is ask.”

“I’m not interested in what’s in your bank account, Tabitha.”

“Fishy, fishy, fish,” she hummed. “My first official hit was when I was twelve; not long after Daddy dearest raped me for the first time. Do you know what bad guys like to do to their enemies, Grit? There’s kidnap, rape, torture, a whole ugly bag of tricks to play with, but the best way to get the good guys to roll over and die is to take away what’s most precious to them. In my case, I took the life of a teenaged boy in the middle of a crowd at a mall.”

“A… Christ, Tabitha.”

“I’m a pistol; point me and shoot. No one ever looks at another child when something happens to a kid. That was what I was designed for. What I was trained to be—inconspicuous, just a nameless, faceless person.”

Grit snorted, disconcerted by the idea of her killing a teenager when she hadn’t even reached that milestone herself. “Little tiger, there’s no way in hell you’d ever be nameless or faceless. Everything about you is memorable.”

“Oh really? How many weeks did it take you to realize I was under your nose at the construction site all along, Mr. Hotshot Mercenary?”

That was gonna bite him in the ass for a long damn time. He got the feeling Jasper and Atticus were just waiting for him to go home before they started pranking him with shit. “Too many.”

“Exactly. As far as I know, Dominic hired me out for between ten and twenty thousand per hit for the first year. The more I put the lessons into practice, the better I got—and I improved rapidly. By the time I was fifteen, the price went up to a quarter million; eighteen, and it hiked again to a million plus depending on the target.” She lifted her hands. “Now? A client needs a minimum of five million in their budget to even get me to look at their target… or I do pro bono work if someone truly in need requires my services.”

“Pedophiles are your side hustle.”

“Not a hustle.” Tabitha wagged an unhappy finger at him. “Community service, reparation for the lives I stole under Dominic’s orders. I choose my own assignments now, and I take full responsibility for them. Back then, I had no control over the who or why. Dominic took the cash and pointed me at the hit.”

“But you left.”

Her insanity sparked brighter still. “Do you know what the issue is with keeping a monster like me on a leash, Grit? An intelligent, creative monster with a growing appetite for blood? It begins to resent the chain around its neck, the lack of freedom, and finally it goes for its Master’s throat.”

Admiration filled him. “You tried to kill him.”

“I bit the hand that fed me once too often. When he finally comprehended he’d raised and trained a monster he couldn’t control… he had a difficult decision to make. Do you kill the cash cow bringing in more money than you can spend, or do you risk your life on a daily basis, wondering when the last link of that chain is going to snap?”

“From what I’ve heard, Dominic was a coward until his final breath. I doubt he’d risk anything, let alone his neck, no matter how valuable you were.” Grit regarded her, tapping his fingertips together. “Which brother did he aim at you?”

“Oh, you think he only sent one?” Tabitha threw her head back and laughed. “That’s cute. My brothers are bigger, stronger, but none of them have my kernel of lunacy. Troy, Wesley, and Ashford were the unlucky three.”

“Three against one?”

She lifted her shoulder. “Faced worse odds against more determined enemies. They were already reaching the point where Dominic’s tyranny was undermining his control, so they weren’t really that inclined to follow orders. If he’d just sent one, I might be dead, but instead it became a bonding moment between the four of us. A new beginning.”

“You turned into a team?”

“God, no. We were far too independent at that stage, too used to being on our own, acting as all-in-one weapon systems. Much like Darius when he was ordered to kill Caera, it was our epiphany moment; we just agreed enough was enough and… walked away. Went our own separate ways, knowing each of us was out there in the big, wide world somewhere, and started our lives away from the manor.”

Frowning, Grit mulled that over. “None of you went back to shut the operation down?”

Her eyes flicked with… guilt? Remorse? “I can only speak for myself, I guess. I was young, on my own for the first time, without a cent to my name. I spent two years worming my way back into the job; Dominic tanked my reputation in an effort to drive me home to the fold. My self-confidence plummeted, I fucked up a half-dozen jobs because I was so desperate to succeed, and murdering the asshole seemed an insurmountable task.”

Yeah, he could understand that. Had been there himself, actually. It was a demoralizing experience, especially when he knew he was capable of doing the job he’d just royally screwed up.

“When I got word that Jasper was on the hunt, planning on taking Dominic down because of the whole kidnapping situation, I’d already been contemplating going back to end it. My confidence and reputation were the best they’d ever been. I actually felt… ready.”

Grit nodded, imagining her all revved up and primed for battle. He’d read the reports on the mission in Montana and, while the words were stiff and formal, they’d provided an excellent picture of just how well Tabitha fared when under enemy fire.

She and Darius, along with a few Avalon Masters, had decimated Dominic’s hired crew.

If he recalled correctly, she was described as focused, deadly, and unflappable. Unsurprisingly, he thought, given that Dominic was in her sights.

“You kicked ass.”

“I did what I was trained to do,” she mumbled, but the quick flush of heat in her cheeks told him she was pleased by his comment. When she fidgeted in her chair, he smiled and pushed back his chair; she gave him a wary look. “What?”

“I want to try something,” he said simply. “Come here.”

“A please wouldn’t go amiss,” Tabitha grumbled.

“I leave the pretty words for when you’re riding my—” Oh fuck. Catching the glib retort before it spooked her into bolting, he cleared his throat. Absolutely the wrong woman to tease about begging when she was stuffed full of his cock. He needed to be more careful until she became used to him. “Never mind. Please, little tiger, would you come here?”

It was fascinating to watch her slide on pieces of emotional armor, bit by bit. Honestly, it was sexy as hell. Cocky arrogance, a bucketload of sass, a dash of predator, and a pinch of alluring siren. She layered them on, one at a time, and topped off her ensemble with a heavy chainmail vest of sheer insanity.

Allowing her to believe she had full control of the situation, Grit leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the way she prowled toward him, a sleek tigress stalking her prey. Her defenses were up, raised high, shielding the lost little girl she honestly didn’t think existed anymore.

The woman sashaying his way was a fucking goddess. Confidence in every slow, measured stride. Sexuality in the sway of her hips, the small kick of her feet as she strutted toward him. The flash of her calves through the slit of her robe.

Those eyes… fuck, he loved those goddamn eyes. Part rabid animal, part sulky seductress, part otherworldly innocence. She could grow a pair of elven ears, let her white-gold locks waterfall down to her knees, and he’d have no problem believing she was an elf queen, crown and all.

She stopped in front of him. “You summoned me, oh master?”

Letting his gaze fall from her eyes all the way down to her cute little toes and back up again, he inclined his head. “I sure did. Straddle me.”

It was barely noticeable, but she jerked. “I beg your pardon?”

Grit snorted. “You’ve spent too much time stalking our British friend, little tiger. An emphatic excuse me? would have gotten your point across just as effectively.”

“The last man I straddled,” she purred, “died screaming, trying to put his guts back through the hole I made from here,” she whispered, touching her fingernail to Grit’s sternum, “to here.”

Damn it, his cock jerked as her nail trailed down the shallow valley between his abs to his navel. He lifted his eyebrow, meeting her combative stare without flinching. “Don’t see any weapons on you, Tabby Cat, but why don’t you slip that robe off for safety’s sake?”

The power balance was more even, he mused as she held his gaze with a fierce confidence he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t beneath him, her movements being limited by his weight. She obviously felt less threatened by him this way, which was what he wanted to find out.

The belt of the robe slipped through the loops around her waist, slithering to the floor in a furry coil. Challenge sparking hotly in her eyes, she splayed open the two halves of the garment, offering him a grade-fucking-A view of her no-pun-intended killer body, letting it roll over the balls of her shoulders.

“Do I look armed to you, Rory?”

Trick question. She was damn near military grade weaponry. Little details like guns, knives, and unfriendly implements were simply add-ons for her to play with; she didn’t need any of them to cause damage.

He gestured to the carpet. “Drop the robe, Tabitha.”

Her lips pursed. “Is this another one of your lessons?”

“Yes. I call it a lesson in doing what you’re told.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes and allowed the material to glide away, the blue fire in her eyes still driven by the challenge of besting him. He wondered how many men she’d lured to their death this way, seducing them with naked flesh and a figure that made his tongue want to hang out like a cartoon dog’s.

Wasn’t it funny how he didn’t care? Not how many men she’d been with, how many she’d killed. They hadn’t touched the heart of her, hadn’t made a dent in those impregnable walls of hers—he, however, was not only going to touch her, bring those walls tumbling down, but he would command her by the time they were done.

Refraining from using good girl in case she cottoned on to his plan, he just nodded once in approval. Rubbing a hand along his thigh, he smirked when her eyes landed not on the length of muscle, but a different kind of length altogether.

“If you want a look, all you have to do is ask,” he told her, tongue in cheek.

“I wasn’t admiring your cock,” she retorted without hesitation. “I was wondering where you got those sweatpants from; I need some new workout gear and they look really comfy.” Her unaffected expression slipped slightly as his dick flexed under her scrutiny. “Besides, I’ve seen bigger.”

Like hell she had, he thought with an inner scowl. Instead of defending his appendage, Grit plucked the material between his thumb and forefinger. “These old things? I buy them by the dozen.”

“Hmm,” was her reply. What was she thinking?

“Are we done pretending you have an interest in my pants?” he queried, a touch of laughter in his voice. “Because I have an empty lap which is not being straddled. Rectify that please, if you’d be so kind.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits of bright blue fire. A baby dragon ready to hiss and spit flames. “I know your game.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” Casually, he lifted his arms, linking his fingers behind his neck. “There, I’ve evened the odds for you, little tiger. You like being in control; I’m giving it to you. No touching—unless you ask for it.”

Cockiness was slowly fading into anxiety. Now he knew her better, she was surprisingly easy to read. A shift of her hips told him she was considering taking a step back, only for her mouth to tighten as she warred against her own instincts.

If he ever got her beneath him, he’d need to study every nuance of emotion as he touched her. Her eyes weren’t a completely reliable source of information—she was too adept at concealing herself that way—but her body told him everything she didn’t want him to know.

“On my lap, Tabitha. Now.”

Whether she responded to the dominance in his tone because she harbored some seed of submissiveness or because she’d been conditioned into obeying a darker timbre, he wasn’t sure, but respond she did, quite beautifully.

Grit held his breath as she stepped closer, her hands pressing against his bare chest and sliding up to cup the muscles bunching along the tops of his shoulders. He daredn’t say a word as she lifted her leg over his, balancing herself on him as she repeated the movement with her other.

Not once did he glance down at her exposed pussy.

How, he didn’t know, but he refrained.

Her nails bit into his skin, her palms dampening with sweat. The perfect curves of her breasts taunted him, just inches from his face. Any other woman, he’d have leaned forward and sucked on one of those sweet nipples to his heart’s content.

Instead, he remained still, radiating calmness. She had every chance to bolt if she needed to; he wouldn’t try to stop her with anything but his voice.

Slowly, Tabitha lowered herself down until her bottom rested ever so lightly on his thighs. Her thighs quivered with the effort of hovering over him, bearing her weight in an awkward position.

“Relax, Tabitha. I’m not going to strap you down on my dick if you sit properly.” Christ, he was gaining a deeper respect for the subs now he couldn’t use his hands. It dawned on him how much he relied on them for communicating; a gentle, reassuring stroke wouldn’t go amiss right about now. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Stubborn little cat that she was, Tabitha continued to hold herself aloft. Her teeth ground together before she asked in a strained voice, “Now what?”

“Sit.”

The corner of her lip twitched into a curl. He counted off the seconds as she pointedly refused to give in, before he felt the pleasant weight of her bare ass ease onto his thighs. “Happy now?”

Immensely. Grit just smiled and acted as though having her in this exact position wasn’t one of the best moments of his life. Possibly one of the most thrilling too—after all, killing him would take her mere seconds if she chose murder as an escape route.

“I’m at your mercy, little tiger. My hands are out of commission, I’m vulnerable and there’s no one here to rescue me.” He laughed when she huffed a breath down her nose. “Sex and intimacy are your trigger points. Kissing is a pleasure, or at least it should be.”

“Sticking your tongue down someone’s throat is supposed to be pleasurable?”

“I’m not suggesting you deepthroat me. That would require an incredibly long tongue, and I’m just not into that.” His fingers flexed with the urge to touch her, urge her closer. “Do you find me attractive, Tabitha?”

She sniffed. “My training dictates I don’t find anyone attractive or not. It isn’t something I factor into a kill—all I see is a big, red bullseye and dollar signs.”

That wasn’t any kind of answer he’d accept, he thought with a scowl. “Bullshit. You’re not a machine, Tabitha, a fucking robot incapable of thinking for yourself. Just because your asshole father found ways to assert his will over yours and molded you into something you never should have been, doesn’t mean you’re inhuman. Thoughts, feelings, instincts, they’re all still part of you. So I’ll ask you again: do you find me attractive?”