Page 5 of Dirty Game
"You were... extracting information from Phillip Denton."
"Extracting." He tastes the word, seems to find it amusing. "Such a clinical term for breaking a man's fingers one by one until he talks."
My stomach clenches, but I don't look away. "He stole from you."
"He did. And you found it." He steps closer, and I press back against the chair. "You found what he thought he'd hidden perfectly. Do you understand what that means?"
"That I'm useful?"
"That you're dangerous." His hand rises toward my face, and I flinch hard, my whole body trying to collapse into itself.
He pauses, his bloodied fingers hovering inches from my cheek.
I can smell the iron on his skin, see the split knuckles up close. "You're afraid of me."
"Everyone's afraid of you."
"Not like this." His fingers move closer, not quite touching, tracing the air beside my face. "This is specific. You've been hit before. Often, haven’t you?"
My breath comes in short gasps.
His fingers are so close I can feel the heat from them, the almost-touch somehow more intimate than actual contact would be. "Please?—"
"I don't hurt women who belong to me, Rosalynn."
The word should terrify me. Belong.
Like I'm property, which technically I am.
Payment for my father's sins, a debt transferred in blood and fear.
But there's something in thewayhe says it, something that speaks of protection rather than just possession.
His thumb hovers over my cheekbone, where Marco's ring left a scar that's faded but never fully disappeared.
Still not touching, but mapping me, learning the geography of my damage.
"I don't belong to anyone," I whisper, surprising myself with the words.
"No? Your uncle seemed to think differently when he offered you to clear his debt."
"My uncle was wrong about a lot of things."
"Including thinking you were worthless beyond your virginity?"
Heat floods my face, but I can't look away from his eyes.
They're so dark they're almost black, with flecks of amber that catch the light.
This close, I can see the scar through his eyebrow, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes.
A man this dangerous shouldn’t be this beautiful.
"I don't—" I start, but he cuts me off.
"Phillip was skimming to pay off a debt to the Corsini family. They've been trying to establish territory here for months." His hand drops, but he doesn't step back.
If anything, he moves closer, caging me between his body and the chair. "How many other discrepancies have you found?"
