She freezes beneath me, turning rock-solid, and I lift my head. “But not tonight. When I fuck you, I want my toys there. I want to mark that pretty skin within an inch of your life.” I trace my hand across her tattoos. “When you got these done, did you get wet from the pain? Or did you cry and suffer through it?”
Her head whips back around to glare at me, but I see a glint of truth in her eyes before she masks it. Ah, my little bird is scared of just how much she liked the pain. And I thought breaking her, killing her, would be fun. But this? Smashing those barriers until she comes while I torture her? That will be all the sweeter.
I’m going to burn down everything this little bird holds dear, and reform her into my own little plaything.
“You smell like smoke and petrol,” she murmurs, and then blinks as if she didn’t mean to say that, her lips rolling inwards, dragging my eyes to the plump redness. Does she taste like the tears she was shedding in her sleep?
“Eyes up here, asshole,” she snaps, making me smirk. This girl really does like playing with fire.
Fuck, I’ve even had men pee themselves just from a glance from me. Yet, here she is, staring me down, even as I pin her to the floor. I bet she would fight this hard as she died…
I drag my eyes back up, but they catch on a stained, bloody white piece of fabric tied around one of her hands. Well, well, well, did the pretty bird hurt herself? Grabbing that hand, I slam it down on the floor next to her, making her gasp as she starts to struggle again.
Peeling back the blood-stained material, I thumb the edges of the cut, making her cry out before she bites down on her lower lip, an instinct from years of hiding her pain. One I recognise. Eyes on her, I press my thumb right into the center of the cut, testing her.
Blood forms on her lip, she’s biting it that hard, her eyes dilating with fear and desire, one she’s trying to hide. Her chest heaves, her nipples pebbling against the shirt she wears. Oh, my little bird likes it when it hurts…
“Little Bird, dirty Little Bird, look how sweetly you bleed,” I murmur, leaning down and licking the blood from her lip before digging my teeth into it as I smash my thumb into her cut. She screams, lurching beneath me. I swallow her sound of pain and fear, feeding on it.
I hear the door open, but she doesn’t. Lifting my head, I meet Garrett’s eyes. He takes in our position and sighs. “Leave her be, D.”
“But she’s fun to play with.” I pout, digging my thumb in deeper, making her whimper. The sound makes my cock jerk again as I grind it into her.
“D,” Garrett warns, crossing his arms and giving me his best don’t fuck with me face. “Go find someone else to play with, I heard Ryder was meeting with some new security people…”
I debate my options. Scaring the new guards or playing with the dirty bird? Sighing, I look back down at her. “Sorry, pretty bird, next time.” Kissing her nose, I leap to my feet and stroll towards Garrett, who watches me with a worried expression.
“This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” he asks me, and I shake my head.
“Nope, I didn’t kill her, did I?” I laugh as I clap him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t even budge, the big bastard.
Sighing, he sweeps his hair back from his face. “Go on, I’ll clean up.”
Whistling, I stroll away as I hear him step farther into the room. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck you!” she screams, making me laugh. Oh yes, my dirty little bird will be playing with me again. I can’t wait. Until then, I’ll have to appease myself with others.
Chapter Ten
ROXY
The big guy, Garrett, steps into the room, but doesn’t seem to want to come near me. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck you,” I shout, as I sit up and press my non-injured hand to my bloody one to try and stop the bleeding. It’s not the worst I’ve had, but shit, it hurt…yeah, hurt. I cross my legs to stop myself from thinking about that other confusing…no, fuck that.
Dropping my eyes to my hands to avoid his too bright, all-seeing gaze, I prod at the cut. The crazy bastard opened it up again. It’s not too deep, it doesn’t need stitches—I got good at realising what does and doesn’t need sutures after getting hurt every day. This one will heal, probably leaving another scar to add to my collection.
I jerk back when I raise my eyes and realise the big guy is crouched before me, his dark gaze locked on me, his black hair falling across his forehead in an oddly endearing way as he reaches for my hand. “May I?” he murmurs, but I keep it clutched to my chest, and he sighs. “I won’t hurt you. I’m used to fixing cuts, bruises, and breaks.”
“I bet you are,” I snap, and his eyebrow rises.
“Not in that way, you should really avoid D though. He isn’t like…us. He’ll hurt you for fun,” he warns softly, his tattooed knuckles clenching. He’s so big, his hands must be bigger than my head. He could snap me in two and hurt me so easily. Yet he doesn’t…why?
“Oh, avoid him? That didn’t fucking occur to me, and how would you like me to avoid him when I’m in a locked room, and the crazy bastard breaks in and stares at me while I sleep?” I huff.
His lips twitch, and he nods at my cut again. “Let me at least clean it and wrap it. How’s your lip?” he questions, his big thumb coming up and prodding at my sore lip. I freeze as he strokes his thumb across it, his eyes scrutinising and clinical. Cold. Like he isn’t affected, like his touch isn’t doing strange fucking things to me.
Things I have no business feeling when I’m his prisoner.
He nods. “It’s not busted too badly, it will heal.” He releases my lips and takes my hand gently, turning it to regard the cut before standing so quickly I jolt back—a habit, a habit I thought I’d broken. He sees it, of course he does, but doesn’t comment. “Let me get a kit.”
He leaves the room for a moment, and I scramble to my feet to run after him and escape, but he shuts the door and locks it. The bastard. Pacing, snarling, and swearing under my breath, I wait for him to return. There is no way I can take this big guy. I’m good, but I’m not that good. Plus, I’ve seen his scarred knuckles and crooked nose, which has been broken too many times, so I know he’s a fighter. By the fluid way he moves for such a big guy, I would guess a boxer.
The door unlocks, and he comes back in with a first aid kit. He gestures for me to sit on the bed, so I do, hoping if I’m good, I can lull them into a false sense of security. He kneels down and cleans the cut, ignoring me completely.
“What will happen to my bar?” I demand. I love that place. It’s my home, the only place I ever belonged, and I worked my ass off to keep it alive after…
“We locked it up, it will stay closed for now,” he offers, uncaring about my questions or anger as he wraps my hand back up and stands. “You should get some sleep.”
He turns then and starts to leave, so I leap into his path. “Why? Why are you doing this?” I whisper, tears finally filling my eyes. “I’m a person, a person! Not an object, please just let me go.”