Page 38 of The Wicked

The silence stretched as he waited for me to speak.

I crossed my arms against my chest. “What would you do if I didn’t wish to disclose mylife’s journey?”

“I’ll kill you for wasting my time.”

“Earlier tonight you promised Devil you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I promised I’d never leave him, and I did.”

My gaze flicked to the gun on the counter, and he mirrored my action.

Our eyes locked again.

He read my mind, and I readhim,and then we were both diving for the gun, but I was faster. I grabbed the weapon, flicked off the safety, aimed it at him, and pulled the trigger.

He knocked the gun from my hand before the shot faded, the weapon clattering away into a corner. He gripped my arm and twisted it. A raw scream of panic escaped me as a sharp pain shot right through my wounded shoulder. He took that opening to grab my other arm, twisting it behind me and swiftly flipping our positions, shoving me against the counter, my back to his front, the wood digging tightly to my ribs.

Before he had pinned me, I caught a glimpse of blood on his upper left arm. His dress shirt was torn, and a flicker of satisfaction flowed through me because the bullet had grazed him just like I intended. I was still in his hold—locked between the hard plane of his chest and the unforgiving sharp edge of the counter, the wound on my shoulder burning with pain.

“Let go of me!” I let out almost breathlessly.

“That was an idiotic move, Sport. You’re lucky I instructed my people not to interfere no matter what they hear—you’d be dead if I hadn’t taken that precaution.” His breath brushed my ear.

Close.

I pushed back, ignoring the pain. “Let mefuckinggo!”

“What could be so important that you would try to kill me?”

Too close.

I thrashed, pushed back, bucked my hips, anything to squirm free of him—the dark was closing—I was fighting.

He pushed me further into the edge of the counter. “Keep that up and you’ll break all your ribs.”

“Fuck,” I voiced breathlessly, blinking rapidly as I felt the stitches on my shoulder tear open. His hold remained strong, tethering me back to the here and now, but I was slowly falling, zoning out, stuck. I felt stuck, suffocated, trapped—“Let me go!” I screamed, but he only tightened his grip on my wrist.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t escape; I had no control, no space to breathe.

My chest tightened, my breathing quickened. “Let go of me, Elio!” My voice shook.

I was winded, trapped by the walls of his body.No, not walls… cage… he was morphing into a cage.

No.No.

I threw my head back, hoping to knock him in the chin, but somehow, I missed, I was trapped. And there was no escape. No escape. I couldn’t breathe.

“Let me go!”

He released his hold but kept his arms on both sides of me. “Stop fighting me.” His lips were right by my ear.

My chest heaved. “Let go or I swear to God… I swear to God—”

“Breathe.” His voice softened, but he still held me, and alarm bells rang in my head.

“Just let me go!”

“Not until you remember how to breathe.”