Page 26 of Monstrous Grave

Never once do I break my gaze from him, keeping track of all his movements. I swallow harshly when he steps closer, and I attempt to appear unbothered, but it’s hard when I know he’s the one with the weapon now. He has his knife, whereas I dropped my gun.

His knife is covered with blood glistening off the sharp blade in the gentle, silvery glow of the moon.

Blood.

“You—” I take a shuddering breath, attempting to control both the fright and the irritation filling every nerve ending within me. “You killed those guards.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

I imagine him smirking underneath the helmet, finding amusement in my confusion and rage. He remains silent, anger palpable in the tense stillness that hangs between us, allowing the wind to breeze against the unyielding metal surfaces of the containers.

“You fucking killed those guards.”

Rage is a potent thing visible in me, yet it’s also one of the most dangerous emotions you can show to your enemy. Staying calm and composed at all times serves as an advantage when you’re in checkmate mode. That allows you to keep your mind in control. Whereas rage takes over everything you’re feeling until the only thing you sense is just that. I’m fuming, my hands shaking with uncontrolled emotions.

If Mr. Valenti saw me right now, he’d throw me to the wolves, our sworn enemies, or worse—condemn me to the isolation chamber hidden in their basement. It’s a room meant for those associates, or even made men, who dare betray the syndicate. A shudder skates over my skin as I think about it, forgetting the existence of the biker for a moment.

“So what?” His voice barely cuts through the howling wind.

Grounding myself, I take yet another step back, telling myself it’s because I don’t want him near me. But I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason.

He draws closer, and with another container behind me, I’m unable to put more distance between us.

“So what?” he repeats, sending goosebumps erupting across my arms.

I think about all the reasons why I’m annoyed. The fact that the Grimaldis would know someone was here, disposing of their guards with no remorse. It will make them suspicious, heightening their security and making it more intact without any way to slip through their defenses.

“If you’re so adamant on this mission, Viper, then you should know the so what,” I say as calmly as I can. “Fucking idiot.”

In an instant, I’m slammed against the container with such ferocity that my head collides sharply against the metal, sending waves of dizziness to swim up the surface. The world blurs into a hazy picture for a moment.

All I feel is the lack of air as he encircles his hand around my throat, not enough to kill me, but enough to weaken me. He’s tantalizingly close, the heat from his body brushing against mine and creating a different, forbidden, tension full of desire and danger.

His hand is right on my pulse point, trapping me in his hold, and I realize fighting is useless. Predators always chase the prey that fight or resist.

A silent and unmoving bunny is a living bunny.

Despite the fear gripping me, there’s a certain thrill in our proximity, as if I’m chasing the danger by desiring to stand close to him.

He increases the pressure until my chin involuntarily tilts upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. Tingling sensations cascade through my body in this twisted moment, having always enjoyed the arousing brink between life and death, no matter how perverse.

Underneath the tinted visor, the shadows of his eyes loom, darker and more intense than mine. They bore into me with a seething rage and hatred, yet there’s something else I can’t name.

This is a man who kills ruthlessly, enough to earn a reputation as a notorious biker. The second-born son of the García cartel, whereas I’m only a made woman in the underground world of Penumbra Crest.

The way he grips my throat, pressing his thumb against the pulse that could render me unconscious if pressed hard enough, reminds me too much of a person I’d rather forget. Someone who doesn’t deserve a place in my thoughts. It makes my heart ache in ways I never wished for, and I push those memories away, locking them in a box far down in my subconscious that it will take years to dig out.

“Here’s how things are gonna go, little angel.” He sneers the awful nickname like an insult, a cold glint in his eyes. “I possess knowledge that neither you nor anyone in your family are privy to, and I also have the schematics.” A smirk tugs at his lips, and I dig my nails into my palm.

So, he stole the damn schematics, proving the fact he killed that person in the warehouse.

I interrupt him before he can elaborate. “Are you so attached to your knife that you can’t help but hold it close to your chest?” I flutter my eyelids, cursing my stupid mouth for uttering a comment like that. Well, too late now, fucker.

He stands so close that I feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest with every breath, each one deeper than the last—filled with irritation from my comment. Bingo.

“Don’t you ever fucking interrupt me again,” he growls, the knife grazing my skin, drawing forth a drop of blood, yet not enough to cut too deeply. “You’re going to gather your thoughts and start cooperating,” he continues with a tone full of malice. There’s something so radiant and potent about him; it’s overwhelming, like being scorched by a hot iron. “Or else, there will be a war between our families. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

“You have no idea what I want,” I sneer.

He scoffs. “Oh, but I do. I hold the power to put you down like a sick dog in need of saving, or like a ship swallowed by the largest wave, meeting its dooming destiny. You don’t want to be that ship crashing into the waves.”

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