Page 102 of Their Broken Legend

“What!”—His voice pitches into a roar— “Did he ask?”

I sink back. “It doesn’t matter.”

His eyes cut to mine, the glare reaching through my lips, down my throat, and ripping the words up. “He asked me to show him the inside of my... he saidcunt.”

The fierce growl that beats around the room catches my breath. He spins to the wall, thrusts his fist through the plaster and begins to beat the boards like a boxing bag. Dust flies around. The sound is feral.

White fragments embed in his bloody fists, dragging whimpers from my mouth.

I climb to my feet and wrap my arms around his middle from behind, not stupid enough to get in front of him when he is wild and out of control. “The staff will come. Xander!”

“I would have given you the damn money!” He continues to beat the wall, sob, and growl. “I will give you the damn money! A million dollars, right?”

God.I squeeze his pulsing core in an attempt to anchor him to me. “I don’t want it anymore. I fucked up. I swear, I tried to leave, but the other one came in. He pinned me down, and that’s when you got here. I was never going to go through with it. I swear.”

He stops.

Panting animalistically, he braces himself on the wall, glaring at the craterous holes painted crimson from his weeping fists. “I’m going to kill them.”

“No. We have to leave. The s—”

“No one is coming in here, Kaya.” He laughs, but it’s a horrible sound—lonely and pained. “I told them not to.”

And he’s a Butcher.

“Okay.”

“I’m going—” He grows within my banded arms, almost contracting, flexing to jolt me away, terrify me or— I won’t release him! Clinging to him. “Let me go, Woman. I need to get to my men. Make sure they caught the dead fucks.”

“I don’t want you fighting.”

His chest and abdomen are rock-hard. So fucking firm in all the places I’m soft. His large, thick muscles are like burning steel beneath my clutches.

“Use me.” I feel desperate—my heart racing, thrashing within my ribcage. He can’t fight. He can’t. “Don’t fight.”

“Not after what just happened.” He pants. “Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Your touch could never hurt me, Xander.”

It’s like a detonation of will. Flying around, he slams my chest against the wall, his large body following, crushing me to the plaster. My face presses alongside the craters, the paint curling like bloodied ribbons.

“You’re mine!” He runs a hand down my spine, my skin rolling beneath his caress. “This spine.” He licks the nape of my neck. “Your sweat.” Lifting his shirt over my bare arse, he slides his big hand between my legs, dipping two fingers inside me, dominating my clenching walls like he’s never done before. “This pussy is mine to open and explore. I won’t share your moans, your sweat. Nothing. Or I’ll leave a bloodied trail of dead fuckers everywhere we go.”

My hands flex around the wall.

“I’m keeping you to myself.”

He jerks his hand from inside me, smearing my juices over his lips. Fisting my hair, he jerks my head back, controlling my chin. “Taste yourself.” He crushes his mouth to mine, tongue sliding in possessively. His saliva mingles with my flavours, and they slide from his tongue.

My toes curl on the floor.

Frantically—feral with possessiveness—he rips his mouth away, drawing breathless pants from me.

We need this. Both of us. Just as wild. Just as angry. Just as unpredictable. When I’m wild with Xander, the uptight parts of me, the defensive parts, crack. Bare me.

The pressure of his need—his intensity—iseverything.His need is my gravity. Giving myself to a man is not what I thought it would be. Not when his obsession is so potent. It should terrify me, but it doesn’t.

He’ll never cheat; I can see the truth in his topaz-blue eyes when they sail down my body like it’s his ocean. I feel it in his thrashing heart when he’s anxious I’ll slip through his grasping fingers. I own him.

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