Chapter 12

ChapterTwelve

ISLA

We’ve been at the cabin for three days. At first, I wanted to run fast and far, but that didn’t last long. Bryce is kind, thoughtful, and considerate. Unlike the previous men in my life, he’s made no demands of me—quite the opposite. I’m not used to someone asking me what I think or feel. But I can’t get the image of what he did to that guy in his apartment out of my head. It’s as if he has two sides, one sweet and caring and the other completely deranged.

“You still with me, Isla?” Bryce’s voice breaks across my thoughts and brings me back to the here and now.

I realize I’ve been standing in the kitchen, staring into space. “Parts of me.”

Bryce steps closer. “Which parts?”

“Physically, I’m here, but I can’t get the image of that guy out of my head. You didn’t just kill him. You tortured him in a very creative way.”

“That man wanted to kill me and do God knows what to you. He deserved nothing less than he got.”

“But why the torture?”

Bryce’s magnetic eyes tug at me. The left side of his mouth tilts up, and he shrugs. “It was the fun part.”

“Fun? What you did to him was straight out of a horror movie, and you think it was fun?”

“I’ve only ever enjoyed three things, Isla. The game, fucking, and making my enemies pray for a quick death. I’ve been out of the game for almost a decade, so it seems fitting to get my rocks off by letting my fish gut that motherfucker.”

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What about the other thing?”

Bryce smiles and takes a step forward. “What other thing?”

My throat is tight as if an invisible rock is lodged there, a hand wrapped around my vocal cords, making it impossible to utter a word. My eyes catch Bryce’s, and I’m trapped, forced into an imaginary cage, haunted by his soulful, tortured gaze.

He takes another step forward until the hard ridges of his body are pressed against mine. I swear, if it was possible, I could orgasm on the spot simply from the heat in his eyes.

He lifts a hand and brushes my hair behind my ear. “What other thing, Isla?”

My eyes shut, and I whisper, “Sex.”

“Open your eyes, Isla,” Bryce demands.

I obey, not out of fear but something else, something I can’t name.

He moves, pressing his forehead to mine. “Thing is, sweet Isla, since meeting you, the only sex I want is with someone who’s not ready. Yet.”

“I told you, I’m not a prostitute.”

“And I don’t pay for sex. But one day, Isla, every part of you will beg me to make you scream my name.”