Page 24 of Owning Nicci

Fascination ripples over me again. The Nicci I found at the Gilded Lily, the woman I brought back to my penthouse, had been stripped of her confidence. Beaten down, hollowed out. But there’s a flush to her cheeks now as she approaches Lucas that has nothing to do with her makeup, a brightness to her eyes, a liveliness that shows me a glimpse of who she used to be. And I feel the first flicker of jealousy worm its way through me, the urge to yank her leash intensifying, to bring her back to me.

It only worsens as I watch her speak to him, as I see his eyes light up with recognition. She might not have known who he was, specifically, but it’s clear that he knows her. That he’s watched her before, wanted her. I can see all the hallmarks of a man who’s lusted over a woman in his every move—from the way his hand moves towards her hip, her back, the way he leans in, the sudden tension in his body.

And Nicci is a master of seduction. It’s clear that her talents were wasted at a shithole like the Lily. I watch her angle herself towards him, her rose-tinted lips parting in a laugh, her body language and expressions clearly saying that she wants him, too. That she’s always wanted him, but had to wait for the right moment. That she wants to be his.

All the while, that jealousy burns hotter in my gut. Every time he touches her, I want to cross the room and break every one of his fingers. Every time she tips her head back and laughs at something he says, I want to drag her back to me, to cover her body in my fingerprints, to make sure she’s marked irrevocably as mine. It surges through me, fierce and demanding, and I draw in a deep, shuddering breath as I toss back the last of my drink.

Focus.I grit my teeth.Would you be jealous of a man for looking at art you hung in your home?Nicci is nothing morethan that—a possession. If nothing else, it reflects well on me that someone else wants her this much.

But still, that burning need to punish him for touching her slides through me, making my hand tighten around my glass.

It’s a good thing that I learned a long time ago to master my emotions. I force myself to watch as Lucas places his hand on her lower back, steering her toward an exit. Nicci glances back at me, our eyes meeting, and then all of her attention is back on him.

Jealousy surges through me again, but I ignore it. I set the drink down, toss a twenty onto the bar as a tip, and stride out of the venue.

As planned.Stick to the plan.Precise. Orderly. I’ve made it this far by not deviating, by not allowing my emotions to get the better of me, by following my plans to the letter. I’m not going to change that now, simply because, for some reason, the sight of that Crow’s hand on Nicci made me want to cut him apart in the middle of the party.

I give my driver the address, my fingers tapping on my thigh anxiously as he drives, the minutes ticking by in my head with each mile. By now, they’re almost back at his place. By now, he’s unlocking his front door. By now, his hands are on her, his lips?—

As soon as the car stops, I’m out before the driver can come around to open the door for me. I stride up to the front of the house, a rental in one of the shittier neighborhoods. Lucas isn’t doing all that well for himself these days—it’s clear. The lights are on, and I move quickly, quietly, up to the back door, picking the lock before slipping in without a sound.

I hear a moan, and that jealousy feels like poison in my veins. It’s Nicci’s moan, soft and wanting, and I suddenly want to change the plan. I want to carve him up myself, for making it so that I know the sound of her moan for the first time because ofhim, and not because of anything I did.

It’s not real, of course. But I still want to make him bleed for it.

I move through the house, silent, my gun in my hand. The lights are on in the living room, and I pause at the doorway, pressing myself flush against the wall as I hear Nicci let out another soft moan, followed by Lucas’ sound of pleasure. By now, I think, he’s enthralled.

Enough that he won’t notice when I slip into the room, through the shadows.

They’re on the couch. Nicci is on his lap, straddling him, her dress artfully arranged to hide her weapons, his hands pinned in hers to make sure they don’t rove too far. Her hips rock against his lap, and my gaze flicks to the space between them, a sudden need to make sure that he’s not actually inside of her driving me. If he was…

He’d die much more slowly than we planned.

We. The word thuds in my head like a heartbeat as I approach, as I see Nicci clock my presence out of the corner of her eye. Deep down, we’re enemies, she and I—the prey and the predator, the captive and the captor—but tonight, we’re moving in sync. Working together. And it feels better than it should.

She leans forward, capturing Lucas’ mouth with her own. She presses into him, arching, pinning his wrists against the couch cushions, and for one bright, white-hot moment, my vision blurs and my heartbeat pounds in my ears as I resist the urge to shoot him here and now. To put a bullet through his brain before he can enjoy another moment of feeling her so close to him.

Instead, I follow the plan. I slink along the wall, behind the couch—and I press the end of the silencer against the back of his skull.

“End of the road, Giacometti,” I murmur, as I feel him stiffen. Nicci raises her head, her lipstick smeared, and inexplicably, my cock throbs, swelling against my thigh at the sight of her ruinedmakeup. Her lips part in a smile, and with one swift movement, she reaches for her knife.

“Don’t move,” I tell him, the instant that I see her go for it. “You try to fight her off, I pull the trigger. You’ll die either way. I’m too quick for you to do much before a bullet goes in you.”

I wonder if he’ll try to throw her off, try to run, try to fight anyway. That was the reason for all the drills, all the workouts, to make sure that Nicci was physically fit to handle herself in that situation. But instead, he freezes. He believes me. Knows he’s outmatched, and the instinct for survival manifests in his utter stillness, buying himself precious seconds before he dies.

Nicci slides the knife out from her thigh holster, pressing it against his throat. In that moment, I wish I was in front of Lucas, so I could see his eyes go wide, see his fear. I can smell it, the rank sweat beading on him as Nicci almost trembles with eagerness, her expression venomous as she pushes the point into the soft flesh.

“You wanted me,” she whispers. “You and your friends made bets about who would get to have me. Worked harder for Barca so that you could earn the right to violate me, if I ever made him angry enough to give me away. And now you’re all going to pay for it.”

I keep the gun pressed to his head, in case she doesn’t manage to slit his throat properly. But I hear the gurgle, see the blood spray across her arms and chest, some of it splattering onto her face, and I can feel the sense of victory thudding through her own veins, making her heart race as he goes still.

She lowers her hand, her eyes bright and feral. After a long moment, she pushes herself off of his lap, her dress falling back into place, parts of the silk soaked through. I’m already fishing my burner phone out of my pocket, about to call the cleaners to take care of this and make sure it’s untraceable.

Nicci stands there, staring at the body as if she wants to memorize it, as I make the call. She only snaps back to reality when I hang up, saying her name sharply.

“Let’s go. The cleaners are on their way.”

She nods, wordless. Something burns in my gut again—the image of her writhing on Lucas’ lap burned inmymemory—and I stride quickly around the couch, crossing the space between us as I grab her chin between my gloved fingers.

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