Primal Pursuit

A coldness hits the back of my neck, followed by wild heat spreading through my veins. And my limbs are lead.

The address is South Side, so I start my car. I don’t think; I drive. Any sane woman would throw away the card and go straight home. But not me. I have a penchant for danger, and a desire to kill this motherfucking ghost. That’s why I’m all fucking excited. Right?

I pull up the deserted street and park my car in front of the building. It has this industrial vibe to it—a place where rich folks like to do illegal things. It makes me hesitate, but I don’t know when I’ll get this opportunity again.

Part of me wants to turn the car around and drive home, crawl into bed in my horrible little apartment that I scored a couple of years after I ran away from my aunt and uncle.

I ran because my uncle liked to touch, and my aunt liked to ignore while playing‘All I Have to Do is Dream.’She played that song loudly whenever he came upstairs, like she tried to drown out the evil with the music.

My uncle didn’t rape me. He claimed he wanted to be close to his brother and I was that bridge, saying I made him feel better. It started with touching…touching turned into tasting…and I knew it was only a matter of time before tasting turned into taking.

So, one night I stole money and jewels and took off. I preferred to take my chances out on the streets than in that double-story mansion.

My uncle came looking.

Once.

And I broke his arm.

I haven’t seen either one since. And my goals remainedthe same. Kill Davian. Kill whoever put out the hit. And then move the fuck on with my life.

I grab my gun and knife from the glove compartment and place it in my bag.

I don’t want to kill him yet, not until I get everything I need. But…it’s good to have options. And if he’s taking me to his house, maybe there are records. And maybe, just perhaps, I can kill two birds with one stone tonight.

I’m taking my weapons. Just in case.

If thisMr. Hubertsearches me, I’ll comment on the area and time of night.

The door to the loft is open when I reach the correct number, and no one seems to be around. The space is empty with just an industrial chandelier above casting a dim circle of light down on the blackwood floors.

“This isn’t creepy,” I mutter, “at all.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up as an icy chill runs down my spine.

Davian Stark. It’s him, and he’s coming closer. I can feel it in my bones.

I choke on my breath as my heart races against time, pounding like drums and threatening to escape from my chest. His presence looms closer – threatening and intimidating – until I’m paralyzed. Not because of fear, but rather…anticipation.

I grip my bag.

“Davian,” I breathe out.

“Hey there, Rabbit. Bounced right into the trap, didn’t you?”

His voice is low, rich, layered. And the mocking noteholds hunger, latent excitement that states he can take his time.

“It’s not a trap when I know it’s there.”

“Don’t turn around.”

I stop in my tracks, a shiver racing through me, setting my nerve endings off like tiny fireworks when I feel him step up close to me, his warm breath caressing my neck.

His shadow falls over me, and everything is stretched taut as he dangles a piece of black silk over my shoulders and in front of my eyes.

“Blindfold. Put it on.”

My stomach twists as his scent surrounds me—that dark and dirty Havana speakeasy note of rum, tobacco, Turkish roses, and honeyed secrets.