Page 66 of Lose Me In The Shadows

Luke must have noticed, because he asked, “You okay?”

She nodded against his chest. “I feel…”

“What do you feel, baby?” Micah asked as he came toward them.

She shook her head, but reached out a hand, caressing his arm. She considered the blood that had rubbed off on her fingers before tilting her head back to look at him. And Luke must have seen right through her, because he slipped his hand under her dress and between her thighs. Her heart thudded hard in her chest, not sure how he would react when he discovered she was wet. Would he be disgusted? Yeah, he killed people, but she didn’t think he gotoffon it.

“Luke!” she jerked.

“You like this, don’t you sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “Micah’s covered in blood because he wanted to hurt the man who hurt you, and you like it.”

She shook her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. You all broke something in me, or being trapped in that cell and beaten and tortured did. Can we please get out of here? I need…” she trailed off, but her clenching thighs finished the story for her.

“Anything, baby,” Micah crooned, leaning in to stroke her hair back as he kissed her softly. She imagined him leaving a trace of blood on her hair, turning the dyed-dark brown red again. Like it had taken her witnessing them torturing and killing a man to bring her back to herself.

There was a difference between men punching someone for hurting you, being protective, and literally torturing and killing some pathetic asshole for attempted assault. And yet—that they caredthismuch, that all someone had to do was touch her and they’d die…

…that was power she’d never imagined for herself. It was bad, dark, messy power, but power all the same.

She swallowed. She wanted to hate the symbol of it. She wanted hate herself, because the smell of blood should make her want to puke. And it did, it did! But it also made her want tofuck.

It was their fault.

They’d marred her, changed her, corrupted her…

…and she loved it.

18

She’d liked it.

Micah hadn’t needed to be the one holding her, or even be close to her to know that much. Kara had been disgusted by the torture—but also titillated. And, if he guessed, it was the violence forherthat got to her the most.

She was perfect for them. Both for who they’d been, but also for who they’d become.

Now he just needed to make her—and his idiot lovers in arms—realize that.

Exhausted, the four of them entered their hotel room, Kara and Luke dropping their clothes and things on the floor in a way that probably would make Conor question all his life choices, if he hadn’t been busy sending Marcus the recording of Vincent Trust confessing to corporate espionage before they killed him. And although Micah could give a shit about messiness outside of the kitchen, he still considered his own choices.

When he’d been a teenager—before his family had kicked him out of the house and his frum community had turned their backs on him for the great sin of liking girls and guys—he’d considered himself a people person. He liked people, people liked him, and getting them to open up to him and tell him their secrets had been easy. A fun hobby, but not something that mattered a great deal to a teenage boy busy with Yeshivah and a girlfriend he couldn’t touch but was convinced he’d marry, because why not.

It wasn’t until he was on his own and forced to survive that he realized what a boon his “gift” was. If he had thought to use it, maybe he wouldn’t have lost his entire life—but he had. He swore to himself it would never happen in the future. He’d keep his secrets, but he’d use everyone else’s, their weak spots, to work them into a shape that suited him, not the other way around. And when he found a new family, he’d make sure he was in charge. And that he never lost them again.

No matter what.

He’d slipped up with Kara, he realized that now. It was such a novelty, being seen that way, and she flipped everything on its axis. The first time they’d met, she’d seen right through him, understanding exactly why he’d given the homeless veteran money on Christmas Eve. He’d been terrified of what she’d made him feel, and of the impact she could have on his threesome with Luke and Conor, so he’d left—opting to put his loyalty to Conor above what he wanted.

It had been a mistake, followed by more mistakes. But he was rectifying them now.

First he had to get Kara back where he wanted her—in his arms, around his cock, and between all three of them. That’s where she belonged, and he thought she was starting to realize that…he just had to get her to a place where she felt like shecouldleave but didn’t want to. It was tricky, because he wasn’t actually going to let her loose, but she had to feel like she had that freedom and agency that were so precious to her.

Micah understood. He’d be pissed if someone had taken his options from him. Never again. Except when he was with her, he felt like he had no agency, no control over everything—that was how badly he needed her.

They all did.

“You need to shower,” Kara said, interrupting his train of thought. “You’re both a mess.”

Micah dismissed the reminiscing, heading toward the marble and chrome bathroom. Marcus hadn’t spared any expense when he reserved this room for them.

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