Page 14 of Thrown to the Wolves

“Then how did the stitches pull open?”

“I cut them. Had to dig something out.” Terror lances through me as her long fingers close over my wrist. “Any particular reason you thought it was a good idea to sew a tracker into my arm, Scar?”

It feels like time slows, and the layers of subterfuge crumble away.

She knows.

Lyssa saw through my entire ruse. I thought I was laying a trap for her tonight, but I’m the one clamped in the jaws of the Wolf.

My eyes dart left to the medical scissors. I could try to end it all right now. Sink the blade into her throat and wrench them free, hard.

But I’d never get to the scissors in time. I know that. That’s what scared me last night, when I saw—for the first time—how powerful, how tricky, how gifted Lyssa really is as a fighter.

She’s already read my mind. If I reach for a weapon now, I might as well sink it into my own throat.

And Lyssa holds my gaze, unblinking, as she reads the war in my mind.

She keeps hold of my wrist, utterly at ease despite her nudity and despite the fact that she knows I’m the enemy.

And then she smiles, that wicked, deadly smile that she gave last night before dispatching six Sokolovs without breaking a sweat. “Well, sweetheart? Your move.”

CHAPTER 7

Lyssa

I increase my grip on Scarlett’s wrist and lean forward, watching the emotional journey crossing her face with interest. Her eyes get wider and wider as I lean in closer and closer, our faces inches apart.

“Who are you?” I ask with interest.

Scarlett’s delicate hand claws at mine, trying to get me to release her, but she might as well save her strength.

Tears well up in her eyes again as she gasps out, “Lyssa, please…” That quavering, innocent tone pulls at something deep within me, some forgotten seedling of tenderness I thought withered long ago.

But her manipulative act only fuels my suspicion.

“Who are you?” I ask again. “Or should I ask, who sent you? The Sokolovs?” Maybe that woman-in-peril act at the bar went further than I realized. Maybe it was a setup from the start.

With my free hand, I grab a fistful of her thick, luscious hair and yank her head back, baring the pale column of her throat. This close, I can see the wild thrum of her pulse, smell the warm, enticing scent of her skin and fear.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” I murmur. “I want the truth. Now.” The truth about who she really is, what she wants with me. And I won’t be satisfied until I’ve stripped away every fiction to reveal the truth at her core…

Scarlett’s hazel eyes narrow, all semblance of fragility evaporating like a wisp of smoke. Then she strikes, her other hand slamming toward my solar plexus with skilled precision. I twist aside just in time, so her blow goes glancing off my ribs, but she stabs her fingers into the wound on my arm next. I release her hair and pull back, while she breaks free, leaping out of her seat and staggering back a few steps.

I stand slowly, never taking my eyes off her. Her chest heaves as she gulps in air.

She’s afraid.

Good.

But that delicious edge of fear only whets my appetite.

I grin as she squares up in a fighting stance—one foot forward, knees bent, fists raised in a classic Muay Thai guard. “You want the truth?” she says, and her voice only has the slightest quiver in it. Good for her. “I’m the one who’s been targeting your Syndicate.”

My smile only gets wider. “You? Some silly little girl got the jump on my people? I don’t believe it.”

I do. That’s the thing. I can see it, how she worked it. But I want to hear it from her lips before I kill her.

Her mouth twists angrily. “I’m not some silly little girl. I’m the thing that’s going to put an end to you…Wolf.”

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