Page 83 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

“H-how did you get that there?”

“You think I don’t know how to climb a trellis, Peach?”

“The cameras—”

“Were disabled.” He finishes for me. “Your boys are looking on the opposite side of the property. Now, get moving. And before you even think about running as soon as your feet hit the ground, take a good long look at the gun tucked in my jeans.” He lifts his shirt to display the black handle. “You won’t make it more than five feet before I gun you down.”

“Dying would be better than going anywhere with you,” I spit.

“And where would that leave me? Without my sweet Peach to taste every night?” he counters with a grin. “I’d be left to find another piece of fruit, now wouldn’t I? Maybe your friend Regina or Ace can help fill the position. I bet their pussies taste like raspberries, don’t you?”

Nostrils flaring, I keep my mouth shut but pray to whatever gods might be listening that he’ll burn up on the spot. He deserves to be tortured in Hell for all eternity, and the thought of him hurting someone else…it guts me.

His toxic smirk holds so much promise that I want to collapse into a ball and cry.

“Please,” I whisper.

He ignores my plea and returns, “You’re right, though.”

Confused, I stutter, “A-about what?”

His hand spreads across my lower abdomen a few inches above my pubic bone before he pulls me into his chest so that my back is plastered against it. Then he runs his nose up and down the column of my throat. “I’ve always been a sucker for peaches.”

Throwing my head to the side, I barely connect with his nose, but it doesn’t crunch the way I’m praying it will. The way Diece taught me it would if I did the defensive move properly.

Shit.

I can’t think clearly. I can’t think at all. Not when he’s touching me.

He tsks. “Seems like someone has forgotten their place. Now get down the fucking rope, or I’ll carve up your little boy in there. Go!” He shoves me toward the rope, but I fall to my knees, twisting my ankle.

“Ah,” I cry as I pull my knee to my chest in hopes of inspecting the damage.

Dragging me back to my feet, he pushes me again, and I wince as an excruciating pain shoots up my calf.

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he growls.

My arms feel like rubber as I grab the rope and rappel down the side of the house. When my feet hit the ground, I run like my life depends on it, ignoring the way my injured ankle throbs with every step. If I can just outrun him, then I might have a chance of escaping.

But it hurts. It hurts so freaking bad.

A curse rumbles through the air, followed by a quiet thump behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I find Sei. On the grassy landscape beneath the balcony. My heartbeat skyrockets. He’d jumped off the ledge and is limping after me, closing the distance between us one step at a time, gaining speed as his veins fill with adrenaline while mine seems to be running out.

Panting, I pump my arms back and forth and wait for the sound of a gunshot to ring through the air. But it doesn’t.

Instead, I’m gifted with the sound of footsteps pounding. And they’re getting closer. I feel like I’m in a dream. The one where I can’t get my legs to work. Where I can’t get my muscles to obey. Where I’m running in quicksand. Where my world is spinning out of control, and I can’t stop it.

Then I’m hit from behind and tumble to the ground.

“Hmph,” I grunt as the air whooshes out of my lungs. He climbs on top of me, caging me in with his weight.

“Please,” I beg.

He backhands me with all his strength, making my ears ring and my head snaps to the side.

“I told you”—he squeezes my neck with one hand then searches in his pocket for something with his other one—“not to run.” A syringe comes into view, and he pulls the yellow lid off the needle with his teeth before spitting it onto the grass.

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