Page 192 of Sage Haven

"Good morning, little whore," he drawled, his tone slick with amusement. "Miss me?"

The voice that had haunted my dreams, coated in mock affection, like he was catching up with an old friend.

I shrank into the chair instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. My chest hollowed as his boots dragged a slow, deliberate line toward me.

He circled me, like he was savoring it.

Like a vulture deciding which piece to tear off first.

And then he spat.

Once and then twice.

The third splatter hit my cheek and stuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Don’t flinch.

Don’t give him the satisfaction.

"What am I going to do with you?" he mused aloud, a performance for his own amusement. His voice turned false-thoughtful, dripping with sickly sweetness. "You really did get yourself into trouble, didn’t you?" He bent at the waist, his face lowering closer to mine. "But I have to admit..." His breath washed over me, hot and foul. "...this worked out perfectly for me."

He laughed then.

Short. Sharp.

Each bark like a strike of lightning in my skull.

And then his hand twisted in my hair.

Without warning, he yanked hard, snapping my head back so fast my neck cracked.

Agony exploded through my scalp, my vision flaring white.

I tasted blood.

My throat burned.

The ceiling spun.

"Why?" I croaked, my voice rough, like broken glass scraping down my throat and making me regret even speaking.

I barely recognized the sound.

He let go.

My head sagged forward.

The sudden release made nausea spike so violently I nearly vomited.

Tears stung my eyes, hot and useless.

And then I saw it.

The tattoo.

On the back of his neck.