My throat was raw, each breath burning the skin anew. The last thing I remembered was Pretty Boy aiming his gun at me. The force of the bullet, the shock of it, had knocked the wind out of me. I must have banged my head on something because I didn’t remember hitting the water. I didn’t even get to swim. To fight.
Then I was awake, coughing up water, and Anteros’s intense, furious gaze was on me. There were no Wolves in sight, just him and me. The sun was just a neon line on the horizon and night darkened an indigo sky. My arm ached, my skin was numb, but my lips were warm from Anteros. Nothing was made clearer by his kiss. His glare was wild and untamed like he wanted to throw me back into the water.
“You’re lucky,” Anteros grunted. If I hadn’t been so dazed, I would have scoffed. I was a lot of things, lucky didn’t hit top ten. “Bullet barely hit your arm,” he continued. “Lucky Pretty Boy’s aim was off.” He lightly drew around the circumference of the wound, talking to himself. I furrowed my brow because I didn’t know what to say.
Abruptly, Anteros sat back, studying me. I swallowed, averted my gaze. I’d been certain Anteros hated me, certain I was going to die at the Wolves’ hands. I hadn’t seen things flash before my eyes like in the movies.
I’d seen Anteros.
Without any explanation, Anteros stood up. His tank and trousers were soaked, clinging to every inch of him. He inclined his head, eyeing me through wet tendrils of his black hair—just one eye, a slit of intent. In that brief second, I wondered what would become of me—what he would do with me. Then he shook his head, wet hair misting my face.
Anteros threw his head back, standing so straight his shirt
revealed the lines of muscle underneath. He carded both hands through his inky hair, getting it out of his face. I was an addict, drinking in the way his muscles flexed and rolled in absolutely evil ways. Then before I could object, he put his hands to my waist and lifted me into his arms.
A groan fell from my lips. Ever been shot, drowned, and revived in the span of an hour? Well, 0/10 would not recommend. Awareness was returning to my limbs and the air was like razorblades. My arm burned a throbbing ache.
With each thrust of Anteros’s feet hitting the ground, pain wracked me. I sucked it up, though. Except for the first groan—which was pretty much out of my control—I wasn’t going to show any weakness. Anteros carried me across the docks and I studied his features for any hint of what was going to happen. He gave me nothing. He stared straight ahead like a robot, features hard cast.
At this angle, Anteros was even more severe, his cheekbones carved from stone, his jaw cut from glass. I wanted to reach out, to touch him and hold him like before, but did he still think I’d betrayed him? Then why save me? I sucked in a breath and stared straight ahead. At least in his arms I wasn’t as cold—wet, but not popsicle status.
We stopped before a sleek black car that I didn’t know the name of. I didn’t know the name of many cars, though. I mean, it was lucky if I could distinguish between a Honda and Hyundai. It was different than the one I’d been shoved in the trunk of, though, smaller and more lethal.
He set me down against the side and I could hardly stand so he gripped my waist, keeping me level. His body came into mine, pressing me deeper against the metal, warm against my frigid skin. I fought the urge to reach for him; his beautiful features were still so cold, so hateful. He bent his head, pressing his nose to my hair, beard tickling my forehead. All the air left my lungs in a rush.
First his hand slid from my waist, then they went to the seam of my pajamas. They were soaked and I didn’t realize how cold I was until my teeth were clattering so hard my jaw hurt. All of those things, though—the pain, the freezing—they took back seat to him.
My pajamas clung to my skin and the drawstring was knotted impossibly by the water. Anteros yanked at them wildly until, with a frustrated noise low in his throat, he finally ripped them off. I shook with the movement as he pulled them to my ankles, gripping the car for support. He got them past my feet, tossed the drenched satin to the asphalt, and stood back up. My lower half was naked, but it wasn’t like when he was undressing me for sex. He didn’t meet my eyes, didn’t lick his lips. His glare was harsh and enraged, but worst of all, hurt.
He tightened his grip on what remained of the tank then ripped the rest from me. I let out a small sound of pain as the force stuttered through my body, hitting my fresh wound in shocking pain.
I wanted to know what had happened. Where were the Wolves? But I sensed it was not the time for talking. Anteros was acting like a caveman, the look of a crazed, possessed madman in his eyes. Still, he was undressing me carefully. Though ripping my shirt was violent, he peeled it from my body gently, and I knew it would have hurt so much more if it had to be dragged over my head. He threw the tattered shirt to the side and I had to admit when all the wet clothes were off, I was so much warmer.
I shivered against the car and he stared down at me from his nose, breathing furiously, feral glare harsh in his bluegreen eyes. He didn’t bother to take his own clothes off and I could see just how hard he was breathing because his tank was soaked, outlining every harsh movement of his pectorals.
He walked away and I nearly slid from the car, all of his support gone. I heard the trunk open, felt the harsh slam when he shut it. He reappeared with a bandage and slapped it onto my arm. There was no gentleness. It was hard, tight, and I winced, trying to keep the tears from falling from my eyes. When he was done applying the bandage, he just stared at me.
“Where are the Wolves?” I whispered.
“Dead.” One word, but it held so many implications. His eyes were saying he fucking hated me, but his actions were doing the exact opposite. He’d just decimated his entire crew, just saved my life, and was now taking care of me. I could see he was aroused. I could actually see his beautiful, achingly hard cock outlined in his wet pants. I wanted it, would always want it, even if he no longer wanted me.
Once again, we were in no man’s land.
“Anteros,” I started, attempting to explain, but I swallowed my words as he pressed me against the car. After being numb for so long, thousands of pinpricks assaulted me, but his wet clothes pressed against my naked skin—cold, damp, rubbing—made parts of me I didn’t know could feel come alive.
“Are you fucking happy?” he growled, pressing his face against my neck and inhaling. “Are you?” He punched his fist against the car and I flinched. It made a dent in the metal. “You destroyed me.” He kept rubbing his face against my neck, smelling me, fist grinding against the car. He was like some kind of wild animal.
While his hand ground into the metal, the other rubbed up and down my side before coming to grope my breast. I could feel his hard cock at my belly, could smell his spicy scent in my nose. It was like there were two sides to him—one that wanted me desperately, and the other that desperately wanted me gone.
“Nikolai was blackmailing me,” I explained, gasping as he twisted my nipple. “He manipulated videos from when I was at the penthouse to make it look like I planned everything, like I wanted to kill you, like I planted the needle.”
“I already knew about the needle.” His hand dipped between my legs, palming hard and ruthless. “I already thought you wanted to kill me.” His voice reminded me of our first night together, when he found me out of my room. I hated it, wanted to rip it apart and remind him what we had together.
“I…” I swallowed. I couldn’t breathe. His palm between my thighs was making me delirious, but I knew this was literally life or death. I had to get him to believe me. I tried to focus, tried to steady my blurry vision.
“Do you think I fucking care about that, Francesca?” he continued, anger hot and palpable, like touching a live, burning flame.
“Frankie,” I gasped as he worked the heel of his palm against just the right spot. “It’s Frankie.”