Page 21 of The Secrets That Kill

Her insolence, my command, and the dark, veiled threat streak a deep red over her cheeks. Fuck yes, I need this...needherin all the ways. Way beyond just having her like I planned. It’s innate in her, the need to submit. And I want to take full advantage of my new toy.

Something’s clicked into place, and she’s just become mine.

She’ll get me what I need for this job, and then, I’ll get my revenge on her.

She’ll wish I’d killed her tonight.

But that’s down the road.

“I’m not calling you any of those.”

This time I smile. “You already have.”

It’s not enough to own her. I have to possess. Break her down. Rebuild, then destroy her.

I glance down at my watch. Enough time’s passed that Cooke’s body will be gone. The manager of Seven7Seven will have done her job. Not that she knew what was going to happen tonight or who ordered it. The official owner of the club is Knightsbridge Co., and they—me and a handful of others, including non-Obsidian Knights—have a whole slew of places and businesses under that umbrella.

With all the drugs and booze in Logan Cooke’s system, his death will be chalked up to an overdose. Not a trace of my poison will be found. If he’d been sober, there would have been more digging. Not that anyone would have pinpointed the realcause of death, but still…I don’t like messy jobs, and I don’t play with chance.

Cooke was coming to Seven7Seven because of the party and ended up indulging a little bit too much.

It all worked perfectly.

And me being there? An investor/owner dropping in for a drink at a hot spot in Manhattan is practically the fucking law. A supposed scumbag hitting on a girl whom I happen to save and know from a past life?

Layers on layers on layers that protect my actions.

Ivy will ask questions, maybe poke around for answers. But I won’t be lying when I say I don’t know the dead guy. He was just a job, and there’s not one thing except being in the same club linking us anywhere else.

“If I say no?”

“You made a bet. You lost, Pollyanna. You’re mine.”

“Not with you. I’m not?—”

“Ivy.” I cup her chin and tilt her face to me. “Your sister’s life is in my hands. Do you want to piss me off?”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. Just a thought you should acknowledge.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual. Now fix your hair and straighten your dress.” I say all this like I’m discussing the weather, and I down the rest of my drink then hers.

A small pang of regret gnaws at my gut for treating her this way, but I ignore it. Pulling a stack of cash from my inner pocket, I peel off two hundos for our waiter and drop them on the table before standing. “I’ll be at the front door. Don’t make me wait.”

I turn and walk away from the table.

It’s a complete dick move, a show of power. But she needs to understand the dynamic between us. I want to hammer ithome before she even leaves this place. Part of me wonders what she’s going to do, if she’ll accept her place. She’s smart, so she knows she can’t run. But I’m betting she’s not even going to try. My unspoken order is buried in my words and unless I’ve missed my mark, she’s going to meet me at that door.

Ivy waits a few seconds longer than I figured because she obviously wants to grasp onto whatever shreds of control she thinks she has left. I smile. But it’s not a nice smile. This one has spikes and drips in blood and dark intent.

I shove those thoughts to the back of my mind because I’m not in the mood to get hard all over again. The moment she joins me at the door, I head out without looking at her.

It’s a game of humiliation, something I plan to play a lot. And she will beg for it, along with all the other games in my arsenal. She’s a little apprehensive and uncertain, I can feel that in the air around her. And I fucking love the power it feeds me.

“If you’re very good, one day I’ll take you to Lyre, the restaurant on the second floor.”

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