Page 91 of Full Throttle

I bit down and jerked out of his grip, stepping away from him. I got about five steps away before his hand was on the back of my neck again, turning me back to him. His anger was back as he leaned down, his lips an inch away from mine. “Listen. To. Me.”

I pushed against his chest, but then his other arm locked around my waist, trapping me against him. His hand slid into the hair at the base of my neck. He tugged on it, tipping my head back. “I listened to you. Give me the same damn respect, Nik.”

“Let go of me,” I whispered, my voice brittle.

“Be good, and I will.”

After a moment, I nodded and he released me, but he didn’t back away. For some reason, I didn’t either, leaving only inched between us.

“I remember that night,” he told me. “It was the night I was shot.”

Chapter Nineteen

Nikki

“It was the night I was shot.”

I stared up at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. My jaw went slack as a sharp pain coursed through me, my eyes never leaving his. His bare chest was inches away from me, brushing against me with every breath as I tried to comprehend that simple sentence. It was only seven words, after all.

And yet?

I couldn’t believe them.

Cain stared down at me, his features sharp and unwavering, but still so damn breathtaking.

“What?” I murmured, my voice almost non-existent.

His jaw ticked as he studied me, and slowly, I watched those sharp features soften, his cold eyes warming slightly. “That woman owns the bar; her husband is the bartender you spoke with.”

“I don’t care,” I said, bringing my trembling hand to my chest. “You were—were shot?”

He nodded once. “The bullet when straight through my thigh. It was one of Kavi’s men. They’d found me and wanted my damn head.”

“Please don’t talk like that,” I begged, stepping back.

He clicked his tongue. “It’s the only way I know how to. There’s no way to soften the truth, baby.”

My eyes closed, unable to look at him a second longer. He was killing me from the inside out—had been for years, but now? Now I didn’t know if I would survive this. I turned my head, opening my eyes again to look into the kitchen. “You were in pain, and I—”

In the next second, my back was against the back door, his hands cupping my face. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he harshly whispered. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.” The agony laced in his voice was the final straw.

I broke.

In his grip, I shook my head. “I should’ve called out for you. I should’ve—”

My words were cut off.

I was silenced.

His lips crashed down onto mine, kissing me hard. “Every day, I thought about that kiss, about the sounds you made, how you clung to me, the way you came apart on my thigh,” he pushed out when he pulled away. “Every fucking day, clover.”

Our eyes met and something else broke.

Our restraint.

In a flash, his lips were back on mine. We kissed, ravenous for one another, as if we could never get enough. I whimpered into his mouth as his tongue dove into me, drinking from me, and when my tongue touched his, all bets were off.

We were full throttle now. There was no stopping this—us.

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