Primal Pursuit

Filthy.

Disgusting.

And I need to wash him off me.

I don’t wait for the water to warm before I get into the shower, the cold stream pelting down like glass against my skin. It stings, but not as much as the humiliation does.

I let him touch me.

I let him seduce me.

I let him fuck me in a dark, disgusting alley like I’m some backstreet whore and I…Jesus…I liked it. Every damn second of it.

It’s like he had a direct line to my most twisted desires and he knew how to tap into it, manipulate it and use it against me.

I’m not naive. I didn’t go into this thinking Iwouldn’t ever have to let him touch me. I knew if I wanted to get close, I would need to play his games, and Davian Stark is a dirty fucking player. But I underestimated the complete mindfuck this man can be. Everything he says, everything he does is him bending shit so it can slot into his psychotic deviances. And by God, he manipulated me into the perfect fit.

The water is warmer now as it cascades down my face, and I can hardly breathe through it, but I don’t care. Right now, I’m willing to drown if it means washing his filthy touch off me.

I lean against the cold, tiled wall, trying to focus on the hate rather than the ache he fucked into my body.

It’s not something I do often—transport myself back to the past, bring those memories to the forefront—but I have to if I want to shed the shame and remind myself of what needs to be done.

I need to be that little girl hiding in the closet, my own hand clamped over my mouth while I watch a monster kill my mother. My father. On their knees, execution style.

But it’s not the blood that haunts me.

Or my mother’s whimpers.

My father’s pleading.

It’s not the eerie silence that follows the two gunshots. Or the sight of my parents’ lifeless bodies.

It’s him.

Davian Stark.

He’s the one who haunts me still. Every night. Every day.

He’s a ghost following me around, clinging to me and refusing to let go.

This isn’t only about revenge. It’s about my freedom—needing to get rid of the monster with the rose tattoo. He’s been in control of my life, and I need him dead so I can finally start fucking living.

I need to kill Davian Stark.

Aim and pull the trigger.

Show him no mercy…just like he showed my parents.

And finally be free of him.

A week later, I’m at the bar working my shift—because a girl’s got to eat while plotting her deadly revenge.

I don’t think he’s tracked me down. After all, he doesn’t know my name.

“Hey, can we get more drinks over here?”

My skin crawls as I watch the group of beefy college jocks try to impress each other with their loud, obnoxious banter. They sit here with their chests puffed out, arrogantly believing they’re God’s gift to women, as if every dainty glance from a female is utter confirmation of their power. I wonder how such tiny-minded individuals can think so highly of themselves when all they have between their legs are little wriggling worms.