She poured her heart and soul into her administrations, trying to please him, trying to get him to recognize her, now as lost as he was. She didn’t belong here with him. She didn’t belong anywhere. She fit better in Thailand with Adrik. At least she understood his rules. He didn’t let emotion into his world. He said it fucked things up. This was about as fucked up as it got.
“Shh, kiska.” Absinthe’s thumbs wiped at the tears on her face. “You’re here with me right where you belong. No one is going to hurt you.”
His voice. That voice. Always so gentle, pouring over her like love should sound, when this was anything but. His hands in her hair, cupping her face, thumbs sliding over her skin, brushing at her cheeks, then back up to her hair while his hips thrust into her mouth. She locked eyes with him. Was he there with her? Was he really there?
She didn’t understand the world of Torpedo Ink. These men and women had been born into violence, they had banded together for survival, becoming much like a wolf pack learning to kill at a young age, using sex and a kind of feral ferocity to endure and outlast the predators they ended up hunting. She thought she knew violence after being exposed to the Holdens, but they were nothing in comparison. Even when she’d deliberately sought out those who could train her, none of them could compare to these men and women—not even Adrik. She had to go. She had to get away before she lost herself.
Absinthe gripped her hair unexpectedly, his body moving, his cock full and hard, suddenly aggressive, filling her mouth, sliding deeper, retreating. She was no longer the one in control, it was all him. His eyes flared down at her, going from red-orange rolling flames to a blue blaze as he fed her his cock. She could tell he was close, tasting that unique taste that was all his, the one that was addicting, and she knew, long after she left, she would never forget.
Then he was pouring into her mouth, one hand stroking her throat while he murmured to her to swallow him down. She couldn’t stop crying. The moment she could, she pulled away from him, wiping at her mouth, letting fury rise. At him. At Savage. At herself. Fear had a lot to do with it. She was a fighter and she never should have put herself in such a vulnerable position.
The belt was gone from around her neck, slithering away as if it had never been. It had never actually touched her throat. It had locked down on her collar, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was how Savage had made her feel. Small. Helpless. Insignificant. Hopeless even. She had vowed she would never feel those things again. She knew exactly how her sister had felt in those last moments of her life, just as Robert Holden Jr. and his friends had made Scarlet feel. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to smash her fist in both their faces. She wanted to claw at her own.
Savage was all the way across the room, lounging against the wall as if he was innocent in the entire drama. She had no idea how or when he got there and she didn’t care. She rose fast, stumbling away from Absinthe when he reached out a hand to her.
Reaching behind her, she ripped the tail from her and flung it toward his face and then turned to walk toward the bathroom. At the last second, she raced for the bed. Absinthe was on her as she flung her hand out for the gun and turned at the same time, the grip in her fist, heart beating wildly. He pinned her to the mattress, straddling her, hands controlling her wrists so she couldn’t turn the gun on him.
“Drop it, now, Scarlet. I don’t want to hurt you, but you don’t know what you’re doing.”
His voice was calm. Steady. All Absinthe. His fingers dug into her pressure points. She wasn’t certain what she planned to do anyway. She let the weapon fall from her palm onto the mattress. He immediately picked it up and handed it off behind him. Savage took it. She refused to look at him.
“Who did you plan on shooting, miledi? Savage? Or me?”
Absinthe brushed at her face again and she realized she was still crying.
“Get off me now.” She poured venom into her voice to make certain he knew she wasn’t playing games with him. Hell. She would have shot both of them. She might not have killed them, but she would have shot them. She had fully participated and even asked Savage for his help, but the results had shaken her beyond her ability to cope. She knew she didn’t belong with Absinthe or Torpedo Ink. She could never, ever go through that again.