Page 46 of Unholy Bonds

He smiled a smile that would push a woman to think of all the darkest, dirtiest, immoral things she would love to do to him.

We walked to the living room, sat down, and stared. In the silence, everything was so loud. The tick of the clock. The sound of my heartbeat. The breath leaving his lips.

He was looking directly into my eyes, but somehow, I felt his eyes on every inch of my body, watching and studying.

“Go on,” I finally said, and he cleared his throat.

“Yes. Where did we leave off? Victor and the…”

No. I didn’t exactly want to talk about Victor right now. I wanted to strip him naked and touch him. My eyes fell to the evident bulge in his pants, and my throat went dry.

The image of me in front of him on my knees, my lips parted, as he knotted his hands into my hair and forced me to take his cock was so vivid I momentarily staggered back. I wanted that so fucking bad.

You’re going to hell for this, Yara, Kat said, her voice amused.

I’m already going to hell anyway. And Ryden Sinclair is such a good reason to go to hell.

“So, Ryden, why do you think Millicent isn’t the one who killed Victor? She might look harmless, but she’s also the same woman who has made such conniving traps for these girls. She’s more than capable of murder.”

“She is, but it’s not her. Not this time. It could have been one of the girls he—” Ryden’s face went pale as if he couldn’t even imagine that.

What was his obsession with Victor Bane? Fuck, I wished I knew.

Gritting my teeth, I handed the photo back to him. “Those girls were too terrified to confront Millicent or Victor. Take Victor’s body to any other ME, and they’d confirm that my report’s not wrong.” Anger was slowly writhing up, pulsing against my throat. “Also, the detectives found some compelling evidence. They fucking found the murder weapon, Ryden, with Millicent’s fingerprints. If my autopsy report isn’t enough, that should be.”

“And that’s why I believe someone knew exactly what they were doing.”

My hand collided with the table in frustration, and his expression shifted to one of alarm. I took a deep breath and reminded myself not to lose control. Not in front of him.

“I analyzed the data. I studied the marks on his body, the wounds, the trace evidence, and documented all my findings in my report.”

“Forget the report then. Tell me what your gut is telling you,” he said, his dark eyes challenging me.

Well, of course, I knew who killed him.

“I don’t base my conclusions on gut feelings. I already told you, Ryden.”

He took in a frustrated breath, raking his fingers through his dark hair. He looked like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment. The vein in his forehead throbbed, and for a moment, I saw the flash in his eyes—the look that came over when he killed Phil.

His burning gaze met mine, and I felt my heart jump. His hands were so big, and I could already imagine them around my throat… punishing me for my lies.

I wanted to push him more, break his control. I wanted the man I met that night. The killer.

“That’s a lie,” he finally said.

“You can’t prove it.” I stood up and walked to the kitchen. Pouring the hot chocolate into two mugs, I walked back to where he was standing, staring at the painting hung over the fireplace. “Here,” I said, and he whirled around and stopped. He was closer than I anticipated, and from here, the dust of gold in his gray eyes was so clear.

What would he do if I leaned in and took his lips between my teeth? Licked him down that small scar that had become my worst enemy?

“Hot chocolate?” His fingers lingered on mine when he grabbed the mug from me.

I had no idea what it was about him that made me feel like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Hot and cold. He made me feel emotions I was scared to feel.

“You’ll love it, Turtle Mocha,” I said with a smile, and he gave me a mock glare before taking a sip.

His eyes widened. For a cold and calculating killer, he was sometimes so fucking expressive. “Fuck no, this isn’t hot chocolate.”

“Spiced rum with hot chocolate.” I smiled.

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