Chapter Eleven

You’ve been warned.

No other three words had ever made her angrier.

Or wetter.

Or more enraged. Her body couldn’t decide if it was more turned on or pissed off. Which only left her frustrated.

And that fucking lick… How messed up was it that her knees had nearly given out when he’d swiped his tongue along her neck? She’d opened her mouth to curse him, but ended up panting or something, her head clouded by lust. She’d been glad when Razor had said those three words to knock the sense back into her.

She couldn’t be confused around him. She was supposed to be focused only on their mission together, on her mission, not their fatal chemistry.

By some fucking miracle, her fingers didn’t shake as she rubbed a wrist from where he had held it too tightly. Breathing in deep, she pushed back her fear of this attraction between them. It was so far beyond what she was used to, and she didn’t know how to handle it. But it wasn’t helping anything right now and served no place in her mind.

When she swung her gaze back to Locke, he frowned deeply, looking far too serious. Was that pity in his eyes? Fucking Hellfire, she didn’t need this.

“I’m sorry, Sash… If I had known, I would have stopped him. I—”

Her eyes narrowed, and she cut off whatever he was going to say. “Stop, Locke. Save your breath. It’s dead.” Literally. Her eyes flicked down to the body on the ground. “Do your job.”

She knew she was being harsh, and Locke didn’t deserve that, but she didn’t like how unstable Razor made her, and she was protecting herself the only way she knew how: with a tough attitude and armor around her emotions.

She was turning away when he found his voice again. “But what about you? What about…” His gentle tone trailed off, clearly not wanting to prod at her open wound with the lost chance of redemption. Locke thought he could heal the world, but there was no saving her.

He didn’t understand, but she didn’t fault him for it. No matter how hard she fought whatever destiny was laid in front of her, she would fail. Every time. It was clear where she would end up.

Obviously, she wasn’t worthy of Heaven. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still made her heart twist with pain. She had never been worthy. Happiness just wasn’t meant for her. How many lifetimes had proven that?

She didn’t even want to think about it. Now her hands were shaking, hot emotion swirling within her. Her one final redemption, gone. Everything she’d struggled with, everything she’d fucking sacrificed, taken away from her by a careless Hellhound and his rifle. Though, deep inside, she knew it hadn’t really been his fault, but hers. She had clearly missed the call to her Salvae. Yet the burning anger—lust, frustration, whatever—she felt for Razor wouldn’t let her move on.

She took a deep breath, but red tinted her vision, filling it. Anger once again replaced her pity party, and she welcomed it.

“Get this soul the fuck out of my sight and go home.” Her tone, flat and deadly, brooked no argument. She hated lashing out at Locke, who had never done a thing wrong to her, but she couldn’t stop herself. And Locke didn’t seem to mind. She swore she felt more of Locke’s sympathy, but she couldn’t look at him again.

She transported herself to Sector One, her intention clear. Her boots pounded the pavement, her stride wide and steady in pace. The Night House loomed in the distance.

Her nails bit into the flesh of her palm, her knuckles itching to draw Razor’s blood. Give him a taste of pain. Because no matter how hard her fury rode her, the pain underneath was a living, breathing thing. Maybe she couldn’t run from it, but she knew how to mask it. Her blood was hot, but it wasn’t all anger, even now. She wanted to punch him as much as she wanted to kiss him, to take all that emotion out on their bodies. He’d deserve it for murdering her last hope. For just being in the wrong place at the wrong time…by simply existing. Illogical, yeah, but fuck it.

Even as she pictured her fists pounding at the Hellhound’s face until it didn’t resemble the one that haunted her anymore, another part of her pictured his cock pounding angrily into her, relentless and oh-so-fucking perfect.

She snarled loudly at her thoughts as she turned the corner, avoiding the front of the club.

She didn’t know where he was, but she wasn’t going to stop until she had him in her hands again.