Page 118 of Servitude to Serpents

I don’t shake my head again; she’ll find out soon enough that’s not what she needs to call me right now. I loosen the button at my collar, then my cuffs, and all the while, her eyes follow my every move, making my heart sprint in my chest.

It’s not until I’m comfortable that I meet wide doe eyes still pinched in confusion.

“Run.”

Another simple, three-letter word, and it’s all I offer her.

She glances around, as if there’s some threat she’s not aware of, as if I’d be letting her stand there if there was. As much as I hate seeing her nervous, something about it… Her fear makes my cock press against my zipper painfully, demanding release.

“You’re going to run, and when I catch you, I’m going to fuck you in the dirt like the desperate little mutt you are.”

All at once, understanding flutters across her pretty features, then heat.

I don’t have to tell her twice as she spins on her heels and takes off.

But she doesn’t dash into the open planes like I expect her to. No, my sweet little pet takes off toward the house. I give her a head start, counting to ten in my head, watching her ass as she runs. Her blonde hair whips through the threshold as she makes it inside.

Part of me worries she’ll get hurt. The FBI and my cleaners really did a number on the place, so with that, I take off, hitting the threshold just as she bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time. A smirk fills my face as I realize where she’s going. Adrenaline dumps in my veins as I chase her, a squeal leaving her mouth as she turns, seeing I’m quickly gaining on her. Chloe stumbles on rubble as she hits the landing, but she quickly scrambles back up. Her sweater hanging off her shoulders. She nearly gets to the end of the hall, passing the room where I want her.

Nearly.

My hand snags on her braid, jerking it, making her cry out as I release her. Taking hold of her arm, I use her momentum, her fight, to all but shove her into my office. Her peaked nipples match the puffs of chilled breath that leave her with each pant, her eyes wild and daring as I stalk her. The next time I lunge for her, she takes me head on. My hand captures her throat, slamming her into the dust-covered desk, and that’s where I fuck her.

Right where it all began.

Chapter forty-eight

Epilogue: Part I I

Cult Leader by King Mala, King Kitty

One Year Later

My eyes dart to the clock, throwing a glare at the well-dressed man who settles in at the bar. Some handsome, rich bastard, no doubt passing through town on business, at least judging by his suit that portably costs more than a year of my pay. Sure, why not walk in five minutes before last call? Maybe he’ll order, tip big, and fuck off quickly, following the droves of Sour Grape regulars as they settle their tabs and head out for the night.

I plaster a smile on my face, tossing my bar rag over my shoulder. “What’ll it be?”

A chill runs the length of my spine, setting me on edge as the man smiles up at me. It’s a smile, sure, but cold, frigid. His hazel eyes scream everythingbutfriendly. “Bourbon, neat.”

I shake off the uneasy feeling, heading to the back wall for his drink.

Fuck, I need a smoke. Em had better cut this new fucking tooth and be donewith it soon. If I don’t start getting some sleep soon, I’m not going to make it to her second birthday. I toss a napkin down on the counter, setting his drink on top of it, only for that sense of unease to find me again. His eyes are already on me when I glance up. “Nice suit for a place like the Sour Grape.”

The man's smirk is predatory, speckles of gray in his reddish-brown hair. “My wife visited years ago, and it left quite the impression on her.”

My hand tightens on the bar top. “Yeah? What’s your name?”

He takes a long drink of bourbon, pulling up his lip at the cheap shit. Good. Creepy bastard. “My friends call me Basilisk.”

Basilisk. Sure, dude.

I plaster on another smile. “Nice to meet you, Basilisk. I’m—"

“Tim, I know,” he interrupts, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He doesn’t look like a cop, but I’ve been wrong before. That was a fucking disaster. My pulse jumps as I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Tim, why don't you send your friend Brady a text? Tell him you got a hit on a girl.” He takes another swig, swirling the drink around until it creates a whirlpool in the glass.

"What?”

He sighs, and I nearly flinch as he pulls a phone from his pocket.

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