Page 65 of Lose Me In The Shadows

Maybe there was nothing to worry about.

She shouldn’t like this.

She shouldn’tlikethis.

She should be protesting this man’s torture, persuading Micah and Conor not to kill him. She shouldn’t be sitting here, watching and…Jesus Fucking Christ…turned on by it.

What the hell was wrong with her? Who had she become?

“Wait, I’ll tell you everything,” the man was begging, and began blabbing all sorts of technical sounding shit—probably the secrets Marcus wanted. Luke wasn’t watching her; he’d leaned over to check the camera was recording the conversation.

What was going on with her? Her hands felt clammy, her chest was tight, her breathing was shallow. Heat flushed her whole body, and she couldn’t stop her thighs from clenching together. When they rubbed together, she realized they were wet. Becauseshewas wet. This wasn’t a panic attack.

This was arousal.

She needed someone’s hands on her. Luke’s, to be more specific, although she’d be happier if all three of her men were touching her. She sat on his lap.

“Sweetheart?” He sounded surprised.

“This is…intense,” she admitted. “Can you hold me?”

Hopefully he wouldn’t ask herwhyit was intense. She wasn’t sure she could answer him. Yeah, maybe she’d become a little bloodthirsty over the past weeks—she’d shot Tweedle Dumb, after all. And there was the whole thing where she’d shot the man whose lap she sat on, twice. But she’d been enraged both times, not turned on. Why was this different?

Luke interrupted her train of thought by cuddling her to his chest. He smelled unfamiliar, like hotel soap instead of his usual laundry detergent and mild spice scent, but his body was the same, big and imposing but still providing a soft place for her if she wanted. His familiarity brought lust and comfort in equal parts. And the lust reminded her that even though she’d gotten off, he hadn’t, something she could rectify.

For a second, she imagined getting to her knees and sucking him off to the sounds of Micah and Conor torturing Vincent Trust in the background, but her brain rejected the idea. Too much.

“We drew the short end of the stick, Conor,” Micah remarked. “Luke’s over there snuggling our girl, and we have to deal with killing this punk ass.”

“No, please no,” the man begged.

The pitch of his voice was pathetic. It didn’t matter that he’d attempted to assault her, that he’d done horrible things in the world. Kara pre-kidnappings would’ve felt horrible for him. But now she was reveling in his pain, and the way he squealed when Micah took a hammer to his hand? She should be appalled, not…

…not riled up by the bloody soundtrack, and the feel of Luke’s solid body beneath hers.

“Say you’re sorry,” Conor ordered. “Tell our woman you regret ever talking to her or touching her like that, and I might consider letting you go—if she says we can.”

“Wait.” Kara fidgeted on Luke’s lap. She wasn’t about to take responsibility for this shit. “I didn’t agree to being judge and jury.” But her pulse sped up and something in her…

Motherfuckingdanced.

Micah glanced at her, like he knew. “Well, what’s it going to be, Vincent? Apologize well enough, she might just let you live.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’re right, what I said to her was terrible, what I did to her was terrible…”

A gun shot rang out.

Silence.

“I wasn’t done playing,” Micah sulked. “And you didn’t even let Kara decide.”

Conor shrugged. “He pissed me off.”

Was she disappointed? Was that disappointment?

Micah sighed, stretching. Kara clocked the skin that showed between his pants and tight shirt, the smear of blood on his Adonis belt. “Well, we got what we needed. Time to clean up this mess.”

Who was the woman who wanted to crawl across the floor and lick it off? Dear god, not her.

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