Page 110 of House of Lies

The lust.

I loved working at the Devil’s Den. The things I did to my clients lit a fire inside me.

But that fire always turned into an inferno.

Chapter 45

Cassidy

There’s something in Ethan’s eyes I haven’t seen before, and it fucking terrifies me. I slap at his arms, dig my fingers into his wrists, but I might as well have been attacking a statue.

I can’t speak.

I can’t breathe.

My face feels hot and puffy, an awful, strangled wheezing sound the only thing that can get past his deadly grip.

Why is he doing this? What did I do to upset him?

My heart beats a furious tempo, my pulse throbbing angrily in my neck.

Tears dart down my cheeks as I gasp out, “Please!”

Ethan studies my mouth for a moment, and then releases me.

I stagger, my legs wobbling before they take my weight. I clap my hands over my throat, sucking in a ragged breath as I stare up at Ethan in shock.

“What the hell?”

Ethan’s sensuous mouth turns up into a cruel smile.

“Run.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“Run.”

The primal part of my brain takes over. Thankfully, I don’t make the same mistake every other girl in a horror movie does—I bolt straight for the penthouse’s elevator.

If Ethan didn’t move so damn fast, I’d have made it, too.

He slams both hands on the elevator door, caging me in with his body. I reach for the elevator’s button, fumbling against the slick metal door, but it’s just out of reach.

I scream.

Ethan laughs.

So I scream again.

“No one can hear you,” he rumbles into my ear as he slides an arm around my throat and pulls me away from the door. “You’re mine, toy.”

I struggle against him, kicking and clawing and biting, but he makes dragging off a girl against her will look easy.

“Since you want to leave so badly,” he growls in my ear, “let me show you a shortcut.”

Who the hell is this guy? Am I only just discovering that Ethan has a split personality or something?

A gust of wind snatches away my next scream as Ethan manhandles me onto the penthouse’s balcony. The city whirls prettily as I throw my head around to gape—not at the view, but the drop.

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