Page 32 of Prey

“We’re criminals, not mature adults,” Damon says, sliding my phone into his pocket.

Lucien lines up another shot. “Remember when Nik used to be fun? Before he got all broody and mysterious?”

“He was never fun,” Marcus says. “He was just better at faking it.”

“I’m plenty of fun.” The words sound defensive and I inwardly cringe.

“Name one fun thing you’ve done this month,” Theon challenges, finally pushing the brunette off his lap. She pouts but moves to the bar.

“I acquired targets.”

“Work doesn’t count,” Ezra says.

“I went to that club opening with?—”

“Also work,” Dominic interrupts. “You were following that scientist for the architects.”

“The point stands.” Darius sprawls across a leather chair like he owns it. Which technically he does. We all do. “Our fearless leader has forgotten how to play.”

“Maybe because someone has to keep you assholes alive,” I counter.

“Protective Daddy Nik,” Raphael drawls. “So responsible. So boring.”

“I seem to remember pulling your ass out of that situation in Detroit last month,” I counter.

Raphael grins. “You used to enjoy the chaos. Now you just… manage it.”

“Someone has to be an adult.”

“Why?” Damon finally looks up from his cards. “We’re all killers here. Might as well have fun while doing it.”

“Except Nik’s too busy with his special project,” Darius sing-songs. “Can’t have fun when you’re babysitting.”

“Drop it.”

“What’s her name again? Janet? Jenna?” His grin widens as my jaw tightens. “Oh, I touched a nerve. Definitely Jenna then.”

“You know,” Lucien says conversationally, sinking another ball, “statistically speaking, the more Nik denies being whipped, the more whipped he probably is.”

“That’s not how statistics work,” Ezra protests.

“Can it, Ez, we’re having fun,” Marcus adds.

“You’re all idiots.” But I’m fighting a smile now. These assholes. My assholes.

“Better than being boring,” Theon counters. “When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to? Not for work, not for planning, just… because?”

The moment I took Jenna, because she isn’t an acquisition for a buyer—she’s mine. And I can’t bring myself to tell them that just over three hours ago I did exactly what I wanted—shoved my cock down Jenna’s throat until she gagged, watched tears streak down her face while she struggled to breathe around me. Can’t explain how I came harder than I had in years, or how the sound she made when I finally let her breathe is burned into my memory.

Can’t mention how I made her spread her legs after finding her soaked through her panties like some part of her wanted what I did to her. How I worked her with my fingers until she shattered, her back arching off that shitty cot while she tried not to make noise.

“See?” Darius waves a hand in front of my face. “He’s doing it again. That thousand-yard stare thing.”

“Probably calculating how to murder us all,” Raphael suggests.

“Or thinking about his girlfriend,” Damon adds.

“She’s not my—” I catch myself because I can’t exactly explain what she is. My captive. The woman I can’t stop thinking about fucking.