Page 19 of Deadmen's Captive

"Get a grip, Nate. She's just a girl," I told myself, but even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. She was more than that, already carving out a space in my mind where I didn't want her to be.

I threw another hook, my arm recoiling as I caught movement in the reflection—a shift in her stance, an adjustment of her position. And then, our eyes locked in the mirror. She was watching me back.

"Damn," I breathed out, dropping my fists an inch. My guard lowered, not by the punch bag, but by a pair of eyes that shouldn't have held any sway over me.

Her gaze lingered on my ink-stained skin, the black lines snaking up my forearms. There was a flicker of something in her expression—recognition? Did she remember me? I could have sworn she hadn’t seen my face, but maybe she remembered the tattoos? Her eyes moved up my arms, taking in my broad shoulders, the sweat soaked t-shirt that clung to my torso. The tip of her tongue snaked out over her bottom lip as her gaze dropped further down, and heat swept through me like a fucking desert sandstorm. Rage stirred at that. An ugly reaction straight from my fucked up past. No one was allowed to look at me like that. Not without my say so. If she’d been mine, she’d have been punished severely for even daring to raise her eyes.

"Seen enough?" I snapped. “Or should I spin for you?”

Wide blue eyes flashed up to mine, and I felt the shame and embarrassment in them like a punch to the stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her cheeks turning pink. Great. Now I felt like a fucking dickhead. Anyone else who upset Paige would be on my shit list, but I say one thing to her and I’m the bastard. I felt shit but at the same time, her reaction concerned me. Yes, Persephone was supposed to be pure, but she needed to be strong as well, or we really could break her, and not in the good way. We needed someone who could rule, who could be our queen and bring the Reapers to heel. Right now I wasn’t sure Paige could rise to the challenge.

She turned back to her workout, pretending to focus on the weight she was lifting, and I pretended to ignore her, until I saw one of the guys sauntering over to lean against the machine.

“I've seen you in here before,” he said.

Paige looked up at him, but said nothing.

“My name's Tom," he continued, undeterred by her silence.

"Paige," she replied, her gaze flickering to me for a moment before darting back to the machine. I clenched my jaw as I returned to punching the bag, acting as though I hadn’t noticed.

"You need a hand?" Tom asked, reaching out as if to adjust her posture.

"I got it," she said, stepping away from him and his helping hands

“You work out often?"

The sight of him standing so close to Paige, trying to chat her up, sent fire burning through my veins. The guy was way out of line. She was clearly not interested.

"I go when I can," she murmured, barely glancing at him. Good girl, don’t encourage him.

"Think I could join you sometime? You could use a spotter."

"No thanks," she said curtly, turning back to her machine.

"Come on, let me show you a few things,” he smirked, leaning closer. He ran his fingers up her bare arm, and I saw her tense.

I was moving before I even knew it, my fists clenched and my heart pounding in my chest, fuelled by a possessiveness I had no right to feel, but before I got there, I heard a high pitched yelp and he jerked back, clasping his hands between his legs as Paige lowered her knee.

“What the fuck was that for?” he demanded.

Paige glared at him. “You weren’t getting the hint. I figured biceps don’t necessarily mean braincells and I figured you could use a clearer hint. Now, in case that wasn’t clear enough, fuck off, and stop putting your hands on women you don’t know, you creep.”

I stopped, stepping back before they noticed me, a grin spreading across my face. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she did have some fire after all. Tom strode off in a huff. When I say strode, I mean limped. He should be really fucking grateful she’d amused me. The last guy that laid his hands on her when she didn’t want it was now zipped up in a body bag in a morgue somewhere.

I had been supposed to keep my distance, but when that prick had put his hands on her at the club, the anger had surged, hot and uncontrollable. I should have held back, let her deal with it as she was clearly capable of doing, but when I’d seen the look of panic on her beautiful face, something primal had stirred within me, roused by her vulnerability. The way she flinched under his touch had clawed at my mind. I knew that feeling that crept under your skin, that slimy, shameful monster that wrapped its bony fingers around your heart and squeezed. Our Persephone would not be subjected to that. I had intervened, calmly of course. Bast would never have wanted me to make a scene.

I'd moved without thinking, driven by an instinct I didn't know I possessed, compelled by the need to shield her from harm. And then, amidst the chaos of my mind, we’d danced. Her body against mine, fitting like she was made to be there. It was wrong, it was reckless, but damn, it felt right.

I’d allowed myself one dance, before walking away to find the creep who’d made her flinch. He’d been completely pissed, both from alcohol and at me, but the promise of some blow to make it up to him had him following me out of the club and into the nearby alley. No one saw us, except some loser who looked like he was jerking himself off in some rust bucket across the street, but I doubt he’d paid much attention.

My knuckles, encased in worn leather wraps, made satisfying thuds against the bag's surface. How dare that guy think he could touch her? He’d deserved everything that happened in that alley. I closed my eyes, remembering the shock on his face as my knife had slid into his belly like butter. I’d been quick, though I would have preferred to take my time, explaining why arseholes like him should keep their hands to themselves, but it was growing closer to closing time and people would be starting to leave. I’d let my rage take over, that darkness shoved deep down inside that I fought constantly to control. I’d walked out that alley still shaking from anger. I hated men who thought they could take what they wanted without any consideration of the mind inside the body, the mind they would break without even realising it.

Yes, I liked my women restrained and helpless, completely at my mercy, but I would never put them in that position unless I knew they wanted to be there.

I felt a familiar tightening around my chest, and I shoved the thoughts away as the panic started to build. Not here, not now. Not in front of her.

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