Page 16 of Save Me
It’s a pivotal moment; I can feel it in my bones.
The traitor is whimpering on the floor now, his cries subsiding into gurgling whimpers as his life bleeds out onto the cold concrete—his fate sealed.
Vogue steps closer to the man’s struggling form, and for a second, I think she’s going to falter. But she grips the knife in her hand that I gave her, it’s hers, a gift that she doesn’t know about yet. Once she spills blood with it, she will be initiated, and no one will ever touch her again.
She gulps, I see the movement of her throat because I’m watching her like a hawk. I move up behind her and take her hand steadily.
“Who are you, Vogue?” I murmur in her ear.
“My father’s daughter,” she says steadily, and I let her go as she leans down, ramming the evil knife into the betrayer’s guts. “No one crosses my father and gets away with it,” she snarls, the darkness taking her over completely.
There’s a fucking visceral beauty to it—all that rage and pain she’s been bottling up, spilling over. It paints her in a new light, one that’s got the shadows coiling around her like they’re embracing a long-lost friend. I watch as she pulls the blade free, her hand steady now, blood dripping from the steel and staining her gloves.
I whistle low, a sound of respect that breaks the heavy silence. “Your dad will be so proud,” I mutter.
Harry chuckles darkly, clapping his hands together as if he’s dusting off dirt when, in reality, it’s probably a mix of grime and someone else’s life that he’s shedding. “We should’ve made him dig his own grave first.”
“Well, fuck,” I chuckle. “What a cock up. Who fancies starting us off?”
Vogue doesn’t step back or recoil. She stands there, staring down at the guy gasping like a fish out of water, his life ending right before us. She’s crossed a line tonight—one most people would run screaming from—and she did it without hesitating when push came to shove.
Quentin says, “I’ll do it.” His eyes have never left Vogue, nor my closeness to her. He is trying to figure out where he fits into our equation, but he doesn’t realise that she is in love with him.
I wish I could say the same for me, but she is obsessed with me. I’ve given that to her, needing to see it in her eyes, needing that desperation for me. I’ve manipulated her emotions with a shitty blackmail technique that has her begging for me. It doesn’t make me feel good to know the how of it, but it makes me feel like a fucking god when she turns those dead eyes to me and says, “You promised me something after this was done.”
Returning her smile, I peel off my gloves and shove them into my back pocket. “Where do you want to go?”
She shrugs and removes hers as well. “Somewhere public where everyone can see us.”
“You sure about that?” I murmur.
She nods. “Yes. I want people to see us having sex.”
“I know just the place.”
“You mean you’re going to go and leave us to deal with this mess?” Harry asks, pissed off.
“I promised her,” I state, flinging my arm around her. “So, sorry, boys. We’ll see you back at home.”
“Where are we going?” she asks as I lead her back to the SUV, I help her in and then drive off, heading back towards the city and a popular bar where it will be heaving with bodies. But I’m not going to take her inside. I’m going to fuck her on the bonnet of this car in the car park, where there will be no holding back.
As we pull into the crowded parking lot, the bass from the bar’s music thrums through the air like a second heartbeat. Vogue doesn’t flinch as she watches the crowd milling around, her eyes glinting with a dark hunger that matches mine.
I find a spot where everyone can see us and kill the ignition, and then it’s just us and our rising breaths.
“Get out,” I command, my voice rough with need.
Vogue complies, her movements confident and determined. She rounds the car to meet me at the front. Her eyes are wild, alive in a way I haven’t seen before—the monster inside her has woken up completely now.
Pulling her to me, I push her up against the car. She pants when she realises we aren’t going inside but right here. The bonnet is hot from the drive, so I keep her in front of me, my hands sliding down the zip on her jeans before I fumble with my pants and drag my cock out. Tugging her jeans down enough so I can wedge my painfully hard cock past her panties which I shove to the side, she gasps as I thrust into her. The sounds of the bar and its patrons fade away, and the only thing that matters is the way she feels wrapped around me—tight, hot, and perfect for driving a man insane.
People are starting to notice; their yells and hoots only fuel the fire that’s raging out of control between us. This is possession laid bare for all to see.
Her fingers claw at my arms, her breath coming in ragged gasps that match the rhythm I set—a relentless pace driven by something darker than desire.
“Thayer,” she moans, and the sound is fucking music to my ears.
“That’s it, Vogue,” I growl, nipping at her neck, marking her with teeth and tongue. “Show them who you belong to.”
