Page 10 of Princes of Carnage

“Hello, siren.”

4

QUINN

My heart kicks against my ribs. It’s him.

I recognize that voice, and the nickname that only he calls me.

The low, sensual growl belongs to a man I know only as Phantom, the one I’ve been meeting here at the club all these months.

My pulse rushes in my ears, adrenaline spiking higher along with my arousal. Just the sound of the sexual tension dripping from his tone and the feeling of his hands on me is enough to have me already getting wet.

“Hello,” I manage to say back, my mouth suddenly dry.

His grip on me tightens, his strong fingers digging almost painfully into my hips through my clothes. The familiar scent of his aftershave—amber and bergamot—fills my nostrils, making me breathe in deeper. He pulls me back harder against him, and I can feel the hot line of his cock through both layers of clothing, proof that he’s already hard.

I swallow, my entire body primed and alert.

“Did you come here for me?” he growls, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear and making me shiver.

I nod, not bothering to deny it. The good thing about a place like this is that I don’t have to hold anything back. I can say and do what I want and get what I need in return.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” I murmur. “I was disappointed when I didn’t see you at first.”

Maybe I shouldn’t admit that. Admittedly it’s a little strange to be this desperate to meet up with a man I know nothing about. In all the time we’ve been having encounters at Le Bal Masque, I’ve never seen his face, and I don’t know his real name.

To me, he’s just Phantom, a man who comes and goes as he pleases and makes me feel like no one else ever has before. We meet up periodically here, ever since I started coming to this club a year and a half or so ago.

A satisfied noise rumbles through him, and I can feel the vibrations of it where my back is pressed to his chest. Before I can say anything else, he grabs my arm in a rough grip, pulling me along with him.

We move away from the main part of the club, leaving behind the thumping music and the grinding bodies. It’s quieter in the little hallway that leads to the private rooms the club offers. There are several doors along the hallway, each labeled with a number. The rooms are soundproofed enough that the hallway is quiet, no hint of what’s going on inside each one.

Phantom slowly slides his hand down from my bicep to my wrist. He squeezes once, letting me feel the strength in his fingers, then he jerks his head down the hall.

“Eight,” he says, and I realize that he’s telling me which room to go to.

He pulls me closer and leans down, still holding on to my wrist. I can feel the mask he’s wearing brush the shell of my ear, the barest touch that still somehow manages to send fire shooting through my veins.

Then he says a single word.

“Run.”

He drops his grip on my wrist as he speaks, and I move on instinct. I take off, sprinting down the hall, not looking back. My breathing is loud in my ears as I run, and when I make it to room number eight, I yank the door open and throw myself inside the dimly lit room.

I turn, about to slam the door closed, but before I can, Phantom’s palm collides hard with the heavy wood, stopping me from closing it.

I push on it anyway, but it’s like trying to move a brick wall. There’s no give.

Phantom shoves his way inside, pushing me out of the way as if I weigh nothing. He slams the door closed, making the room grow even darker, then rounds on me, one hand darting out and closing around my throat like a snake striking.

My body responds to that, heat bursting through my veins at the pressure of his thick fingers around my neck. But it’s too soon to give in. I don’t just need the rough fuck, I need the fight. I need the surge of adrenaline and the rush of sensations that come with it.

He’s every bit the hunter here. The predator.

Which makes me his prey.

I have a safe word I can say to stop things if it goes too far, but I’ve never used it before.

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