Page 164 of Scars Run Deep

As he moved to secure my right hand to the other chair arm cuff so he could go to Aurora and play with her, I snatched his wrist.

His eyes shot wide, definitely not expecting it.

He pushed against me, but I held fast, a growl rumbling in my throat.

He’d never heard it from me before.

And it had been a long time since I’d heard it myself.

It wasn’t just any growl.

It was the beast coming out to play.

It knew no reason.

No mercy.

And it thrived on pain.

It gave a whole new meaning to turning pain into power.

The only problem was, when I let it out, all sense of strategy went out the window.

It was dialed to bloodlusting indulgence.

To delivering pain and punishment.

To eliminating any threat in its path by the most brutal means necessary.

But, right now, it was the only way through.

“Not possible,” he uttered, taken aback. He stared at me as our hands shook from the battle of strength. “You were shoring up your limited strength, fighting off the sedative.”

More than that, I’d been channeling the pain into something else.

But he didn’t need to know that.

He couldn’t.

It was my trump card against him.

Grunting, he shoved the shock baton into my chest.

“Motherfucker!” I roared. “Big… fucking… mistake,” I growled.

He was just making the beast rage all the harder.

There was no holding it off even if I’d wanted to now.

I used my hold on his other wrist to jerk him into me hard.

It pushed the baton painfully hard into my chest.

Just what I wanted.

More pain to fuel me.

With him now in the perfect position over my chair, I thrust my knee up into his solar plexus. He grunted and loosened his grip around the baton involuntarily. It gave me all the opportunity I needed to wrench it from him. I whipped it at the side of his face and he fell back with a hiss.

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