Page 124 of Mystic's Sunrise

“That might explain why you stayed,” he said slowly. “But it doesn’t explain why you ran from me.”

I kept my gaze down, let my voice tremble just enough to sell the lie. “I was manipulated. Lucy… she said things. Made me question everything. I didn’t know what was real anymore. I needed space. That’s all.”

His stare burrowed into me like he was trying to unearth whatever truth I’d buried, trying to read the space between my words.

“They treat you bad?” he asked, voice colder now. “Rough you up? Did anyone touch you?”

He leaned in closer, breath sharp, jaw flexing with restrained violence. “I heard some scarred freak was hanging around. Guarding you. Thinking he had a shot with something as perfect as you.”

Mystic.

The name thundered in my skull. He didn’t say his name but he knew, and he didn’t understand. Not really. He couldn’t fathom that someone like Mystic could be wanted. Loved.

So I lied again.

“Yes. He guarded me. That’s all.”

Drago’s gaze pinned me down. He leaned in until his nose brushed mine, and I had to fight every instinct that screamed to pull away.

“Good,” he said, and I hated how quiet his voice had become. “Because if anyone had laid hands on you, I’d have gutted them. Slow. Made it last.”

His lips met mine, soft at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier. A mockery of affection. A claim.

I didn’t kiss him back. Didn’t move. Didn’t respond.

He didn’t care.

“You’re coming home,” he said against my mouth. “We’ll talk more at the clubhouse. I need you back where you belong.”

His hand slipped under my shirt, pressing flat against my bare skin, warm and possessive. I closed my eyes, shutting out the ceiling, the walls, the stifling weight of the room, and tried to will myself somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far away.

“Tell me you love me, Zeynep.”

I whispered the lie like a knife twisting in my throat. “I love you.”

His hand pressed tighter, and I felt the way his whole body stilled, drinking in the words like they were proof.

“I love you too,” he murmured. “Missed you like all fucking hell.”

I tried not to cry as he kissed me again.

How did he find me?

CHAPTER SEVENTY

HE WAS LATEagain, too late to pretend it didn’t matter,and stupid enough to think I wouldn’t notice. I saw him the moment he slipped through the alley behind the bar, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched, head ducked low like a guilty dog hoping not to be kicked.

Perfect.

He’d been perfect from the start. I still remembered the first night I caught him, months ago now. A dingy bar on the outskirts of town, a place I went just to slum it once in a while. He’d been sitting alone, trying to blend in, but he wasn’t hard to read. My eyes landed on his cut before anything else, and itdidn’t take long to figure out the kind of man he was. Weak. Eager. Playable.

So I played him.

I slid onto the stool beside him, gave him the softest smile I had, let my body do most of the talking. I leaned in close, every word a purr, every curve angled just right.You look like someone who could use some company,I whispered, and he practically melted in place. After a few staged moans, a compliment or two about how good he was, how different he made me feel, he was mine. Hooked. Owned. And just like that, I had my inside man.

But now?

Now he looked nervous. Jumpy in a way he hadn’t before, like something had shifted. Like he’d finally realized he’d handed me something far more valuable than a few cheap orgasms and the illusion of trust.

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