Any other “man” would consider my actions weak, pathetic. I have a bigger goal in mind than proving my worth as a man, though. My ego is a small price to pay for the greater good.

From the heat pulsing on my right upper cheek, I know a bruise is forming. Also, Blakely’s gaze is assessing that spot right now.

“Your cheek is swollen,” she says, her tone sterile and unaffected.

I raise my eyebrows in mock astonishment. “It’s like I got into a fight or something.”

She ignores my sarcastic disdain. “What’s that stench?” Blakely wrinkles her nose and leans in close to me, then promptly backs away.

“The smell of raw herbivore flank used as an inflammation depressant.” At her impatient glare, I add, “Ericson thought it would be amusing to offer me a slab of steak for my bruised face.” I touch my eye and wince.

Blakely’s expression shifts slightly, opening up. She again steps toward me. This time, not letting social boundaries interfere with her examination. “You’re shaking,” she says.

“Adrenaline,” I say in answer. “The whole thing… The fight. The bouts in the ring. Being on guard around Ericson…” I shake my head. “My adrenaline is still pumping hard.”

Her nostrils flare, her stormy sea-green eyes wide as her gaze flicks over my face searchingly. “What does it feel like?”

I release a clipped breath. “Don’t change the subject. You threw me, quite literally, to the wolves. At the very least, you owe me an explanation.”

She shrugs. “It was the most logical way to gain Ericson’s attention without you being the one to approach him directly and raise his suspicions.” Her mouth twists into a sly grin. “Besides, you seem to take a beating pretty well. Did that before, have you?”

Well, actually, her plan worked, and it was a plan contrived—as far as I know—in the moment. She’s sharp. She’s resourceful. And looking at me the way she’s looking at me right now, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been this close to.

I breathe her in as I hold her penetrating gaze. “It feels exhilarating,” I admit.

Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, and my gaze follows its alluring path. “What else,” she demands.

I tilt my head, wondering if she’s trying to distract me or if her desire to understand my emotions is sincere.

“I see and feel everything,” I say, giving her what she wants. I reach out and take her hand, turn it over. I trace my fingers up her inner forearm, marveling at her smooth skin, the near transparency of it in the moonlight. The light dusting of freckles. The slight blue-green veins beneath her skin. The rushing blood.

I press my thumb to the pulse point in her wrist. Her heartbeat doesn’t match mine. My pulse is racing where hers is steady.

“There’s this heightened awareness,” I continue. “Things that should be important just aren’t. Like how long we’ve been standing here…I haven’t counted…I don’t care.” I meet her eyes. “All that matters is right now. This moment. It feels like…”

“What?” she presses.

“Like life. The reason we live.”

She’s looking at me like she wants to devour me—but it’s not me she desires, it’s her craving for this feeling, these elusive emotions, that she wants to experience for herself. It’s like trying to explain the taste of the sweetest frosting to someone with no taste buds. An impossibility.

Blakely will never be able to experience these emotions.

Not without me—not if I don’t succeed.

“That’s intense,” she says, a delicate curve lifting her lips. “We should get out of here—”

“Wait.” I grasp her hand tighter, lace our fingers together. “Just a while longer. Stay with me in this moment.”

I expect her to mock me, deride me in some way to cheapen my sentiments. Because for a person like Blakely, it’s her only defense. Being this close has to make her uncomfortable. Only what I glimpse in her expression isn’t derision; it’s pure curiosity.

She allows me to keep her here a moment longer, just us, the sounds of the city muffling the constant ticking in my head, her strange draw tamping down the urge to check my watch.

As I stare into her eyes, I could get lost. I’m being drawn into her, her gravity so strong it’s the equivalent of being drawn in by a black hole. A cold and hollow void with no light and no warmth, a place where time doesn’t exist. And in that void, I would lose any will to care.

This is the moment I know she’s perfect.

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12

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WHITE RABBIT

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BLAKELY

During his encounter with Ericson at the MMA fight, Alex was able to secure an invite to the attic of The Plaza for tonight.

I was as shocked as he was about this development. What is it about Alex that people like Ericson Daverns gravitate to? Is it his vulnerable nature? Neurotic tics? His apparent cluelessness? Is Ericson so bored by his privileged life that he feels Alex will be an exciting challenge, or does he really enjoy his awkward company?

It’s an enigma to me, and maybe that’s why I’ve kept Alex around also, to study his peculiar behavior, to figure out this mystery. It’s rare when I meet someone I can tolerate longer than the minutes necessary to get what I need—and Alex presents an opportunity for insight.

He doesn’t restrain his emotions. He’s honest with them. An even rarer ability, as I’ve come to understand.

Or maybe it’s all just a gross fascination—one I’ll become bored with as soon as the job is done.

Let’s hope.

I look across the living room at Alex now. Head dipped toward his laptop screen. Dark hair messy and flopping carelessly. Teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he concentrates, making a dimple pop. Every so often, he checks the time. Not on his phone like a normal person; some compulsion forces him to look at his pocket watch.

If he doesn’t do this at least once during the hour, he becomes agitated. He talks faster, fidgets. Repeatedly runs his hand through his hair.

“We have a girl,” Alex announces. He looks up from the computer screen and stretches his hands overhead.

“I had no idea we were expecting,” I snark.

His features morph into something between a scowl and a smile. It’s cute. “Funny,” he says. “Maybelline Mayberry. God, I hope that’s a fake name. Ericson is sending a Town Car to pick her up at nine in front of a bar.”

I stand to stretch myself, working out the kink in my neck from staring at my phone for so long. We’ve been going over the plan for tonight. Making sure we have everything in place.

Alex has been using his program to monitor Ericson the past few days, waiting for him to order an escort. There was a chance he wouldn’t…after the last girl he ordered drugged him and left him cupping his balls.

But, as I’ve also come to understand, men like Ericson are creatures of habit. He likes to have a beautiful woman on his arm when he attends illicit functions. He likes to have a comfy place to park his cock. Paying for it—in his mind—entitles him to do with his possession as he wishes.

We discussed turning Ericson’s phone into the hot mic, but there were too many possible catastrophes. Alex getting caught bugging his phone for one, where Alex would suffer a far worse beat down than he took at the warehouse.

Ultimately, the escort was the only logical choice.

“Are you sure you can handle this alone?” I’ve asked Alex this before, at least once a day as we’ve formed our plan.

Alex’s role is actually very simple: stay close to Ericson. Yet it’s what’s being asked of him to endure that is the difficult part. After tonight, his part will be done and I’ll take it solo once again. Alex will return to his mundane life in a lab, and I’ll exact Lenora’s revenge.