Page 73 of The Pretty Savage

"Swallow it."

Swallow it? Fucking swallow it?

He’d lost it and was officially on my list. Which list you might ask? The hit list. The one I kept in my head for all those people that pissed me off.

"I am not swallowing anything, you big ape." My hands turned into fists and before he could say another word, I started hitting his lower back—again—and earning nothing but a few annoyed grunts—a-fucking-gain. "You can't do this," I moaned, complained—call it whatever the heck you want to call it. But he made me feel like a little girl all over again that would need someone to save me.

If anything, I knew how to defend myself. There was no way whoever was coming after me would be able to harm me.

Tell that to those two girls. Pretty sure they knew how to defend themselves as well.

Goddammit, brain. God-fucking-dammit.

"We're here," he grumbled, fishing out a pair of keys from his back pocket, and I regretted not digging through them, if for nothing more than to annoy him.

My neck strained from the position I was in, and I stopped trying to lift my head minutes ago, but I felt the change in the air as he stepped through the door of something. All I could see was the wooden floor and glimpses of furniture, and I assumed this was his place. I foolishly thought he was slumming it with the rest of the staff, back in the admin building, but of course he had to have his own place.

Before long he lifted me off of his shoulder, setting me on the ground, and like a drunken person I stumbled, almost crashing against the chair that was standing right next to me. My head swam, my stomach churning, while my entire body tried to find its equilibrium. But I was failing.

Massively.

Long fingers pressed against my waist, and just as I was about to push him away or try to argue again, he had me up in the air, carrying me as if I weighed nothing, all the way to the bed, dropping me down like a sack of fucking potatoes. "Stay," he all but barked at me, pointing his finger as if I were a dog, ready to obey.

"I'm not a dog," I thundered as he walked away from me.

"Don't I know it." His grumble could be heard from the other side of the cabin, but instead of getting up and trying to reach the door, I stayed put. I assigned my mellowness to the fact that the longer I sat, the better I felt, and the dizziness that was threatening to knock me out was slowly dissipating.

It wasn't because I was obeying him. No. Not at fucking all.

Leaning on my spread knees, I closed my eyes for a second, when I felt a shift in the air. My eyes flew open, seeing a glass of water right in front of my nose, attached to long, lithe fingers that were playing me like a flute not so long ago.

"Drink it," the fucker grumbled, and as I looked up I was met with the torrent of anger visible on his face. "You'll feel better once you drink this."

"I wouldn't be feeling like shit if you didn't try to kidnap me."

"I didn't try to kidnap you." He scowled. "Drink it," he pushed again, slightly shaking the glass in front of me.

"What if it's poisoned?" Okay, I didn't have to be a smartass. I could've kept my mouth shut and tried to get into his good graces. If I still planned on uncovering things about him and his family, the best course would've been to get him to like me. But that ship had sailed a long time ago. Besides, his superpower was bringing out the worst in me, and that wasn't going to stop. "What if it's mixed with some drugs that are going to knock me out, and then you'll be able to do whatever you want to with me."

"I'm pretty sure I don't need to get you unconscious to do whatever I want to you." He smirked, staring at me as if all of this was extremely amusing for him. "Unless you're trying to tell me what happened earlier was because someone had drugged you."

I glowered.

And then I glowered some more, before slowly taking the glass of water from him, drinking it in one, while my eyes stayed connected with his. "Good girl," the fucker murmured, igniting the fire in the pit of my belly, making me hate him just a little bit more.

I lowered the glass to the floor, right next to the bed, not knowing how to approach this situation.

I had questions about Rebecca and her murder, and it was obvious he had all the answers. "So, are you going to tell me about the previous letter?" His eyes flashed, and I tightened my hold on the letter I managed to snatch earlier. "I can always go and ask Dante. He would be more than forthcoming about—" One second I was sitting there, the next I was on my back, with him hovering over me and his hands tightly wrapped around my wrists, pushed above my head.

"You will not talk to Dante," he bit out. "Not today. Not ever." His hips settled between my legs, and I wasn't imagining the hard length pressing against my center. "Everything you need, you can get from me." That single sentence was laced with multiple meanings, but as much as my body was warming up to the idea of round two with him, and as much as my heart hammered, as if it was trying to reach him, I couldn't get distracted.

I swallowed down the words that wanted to emerge, that wanted to push him, mock him, to see how far he would go before he snapped, because there were more important things we needed to discuss.

"Do you know who's after me?" I asked instead, my voice small, almost inaudible as Adrian sank his face into the crook of my neck, his nose dragging over my sensitive skin. "Adrian?"

"Hmmm," he grumbled. "We don't. And it's pissing me off."

"Then why am I here?" I continued, closing my eyes when he swiveled his hips, making me bite my lower lip instead of moaning out loud like a bitch in heat. These reactions I had to him had to stop. I would put the much-needed distance between us, even if that would shrivel the remnants of my heart. "Adrian," I whimpered as his teeth clamped down on my exposed skin, quickly replaced by a slow drag of his tongue, leaving heat and promises of dreams I couldn't have behind. "Stop it!"

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