Page 39 of Twisted Cage

My heart thunders in my chest, the only sound now of Elijah’s crying and my heaving breaths until Konstantin’s deep voice, like delicious grit over velvet, utters three words I both hate and love.

“That’s my girl.”

16

KONSTANTIN

Dark-espresso hair I’d recognize anywhere hangs tousled down her back, the light gleaming off the strands. Shorter pieces frame her face, clinging to her bloodstained lips and the rivulets trailing down her chin.

Her searing gaze snaps to mine. Golden eyes narrow and flash with pure hatred.

Angry, powerful, and… alive.

Relief sweeps through me, burning over my skin, making my head swim with the rush. Whether she is aiming the hatred at her victim or both of us, I can’t tell. We’ll find out soon enough, and sick bastard I am, I hope a good dose of hatred is mine. Oh, the ways I want to spark her fury just to watch her turn her into this.

Stripped bare, at my mercy… and me at hers.

Always at hers.

Chaotic energy brews within me, a combination of helplessness, betrayal, and fury, building with every day she’s been gone. Now it rules me entirely. Having her before me should have quieted the storm, but no—I remain trapped between two souls. One dark, the other pitch-black—vying for control in one body.

But on one thing, those opposing forces agree. They want to punish her for running.

“If you’ve made it your mission to be the single biggest pain in my ass, child, you’ve succeeded.”

Her eyes narrow to slits, an angry hiss sliding from her lips.

Ah, so she doesn’t like being reduced to nothing more than a rebellious kid. Like she gave me a fucking choice. If I don’t, she’ll know just how much she means to me and how deep she’d cut me, by running away.

To give her any of those truths will be handing her power when she already has far too much over me. Power I will take back.

My men fan out along the perimeter around us. I keep both guns in my hands, but lower them to my sides. Keeping my eyes on her, I take measured steps behind her victim. Stopping directly behind him while she stands directly in front of him, I give her a devious grin. The very next step I take, she mirrors my movements in the opposite direction.

We slowly circle her victim and each other. Hunter to predator, predator to prey. A rather delicate hierarchy.

My eyes trace over every part of her. Her sundress caressing sun-kissed skin and hugging new curves that have blossomed during our time apart. The material brushes her thigh, just above her knees as she moves.

Late summer in the country looks fucking phenomenal on her.

My palms itch to teach her a painful lesson about taking off without a trace. Fucking off to wherever she damn well pleases in a world where she is hunted, but too naive, too fucking stubborn to realize it.

A lesson leaving her bare ass red, the flames of hell licking at her skin from the thrashing I’ll give her.

The mutilated man at her mercy has finally stopped screaming. His pleading eyes meet mine as his chest puffs out with some sort of authority. “You’ve gotta help me, man. These whores are crazy… and she’s the worst one of?—”

A buzz skitters over my skin. I bare my teeth and lunge, my gun aimed right at his head, making the words die on his lips. “The fuck did you just call her?”

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Before I can shift my focus, Nikoletta reaches around, yanks the knife free from the man’s balls, and aims the lethal, bloody tip of the knife right at me as she approaches.

“He’s mine,” she snarls, her eyes burning with deadly warning. She takes one more step and settles the tip of her blade against my belly, pressing it firmly into my jacket. “If you kill him, I kill you. Got it?”

My gaze drops down to the mutilated flesh between his legs before meeting her gaze once again.

What has he done to bring out such savageness in her? Spilling blood where he is most vulnerable… has it always been there, brewing in the recesses? Or has something, or someone, sparked this viciousness in the time we were apart?

Jealousy slices through me. The idea that anyone else can claim credit for this side of her has rage curling in my gut.

Ruthlessness is born out of education or desperation.

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