Page 118 of Spinner's Luck

Pain exploded across my scalp, but I gritted my teeth, breathing hard through my nose.

“You keep that up,” Fang murmured, “and I might not be able to stop myself from fucking you before Drago starts his little show.”

His eyes burned, his fingers tightening. “You feel that?” His grip fisted in my hair, tilting my head so my throat was exposed and he ran his tongue over my skin. “That’s what it feels like to belong to me. I will own you.”

I was going to rip his throat out with my bare hands.

The only thing that kept me from screaming was knowing he wanted me to.

So I swallowed my fury, forcing my breath to steady. Refusing to give him what he wanted.

Fang let out a slow chuckle. “You’re just too fuckin’ perfect,” he whispered in my ear, shoving my head back.

He stood, stretching, completely unbothered. “Get comfortable, love. I’ll be back soon.”

He strolled toward the door, whistling a low, lazy tune.

I glared daggers into his back, my chest heaving. The door shut with a heavy clang. I was alone again.

For now.

I closed my eyes, swallowing back the rage, the fear.

They weren’t breaking me.

Not today.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, hope flickered. Because Spinner was out there.

And if I knew anything about that man, it was this—

He would burn this whole fucking place to the ground to get me back.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

THE WAREHOUSE FELTcolder than before. Or maybe that was just me.

Time had stretched thin, each second pulling tighter like a noose around my neck. My wrists burned from the zip ties, my legs numb from being locked in the same position for too damn long.

And Fang?

Fang was enjoying every second of it.

He leaned against the rusted workbench a few feet away, twirling a knife between his fingers, his gaze glued to me.

“Ready for me yet, love?” he asked, voice smooth. Mocking.

I kept my expression blank. Refused to let him see how bad my muscles screamed, how dry my throat was, how much I wanted to collapse.

Fang smirked, pushing off the workbench, stepping closer.

“Thought you’d lose that fight in you by now,” he murmured, crouching just enough so his face was level with mine.

I met his eyes, forcing a smirk. “I’m saving it for when I rip your fucking throat out.”

His grin stretched wide. “God, I love your mouth.” His fingers brushed along my jaw, slow, deliberate. “But you keep talking like that, love, and I might have to find a better use for it.”

I jerked away, breathing hard through my nose. My stomach churned, my pulse hammering.

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