Page 90 of Fuse

“Oh, do go on, papi,” she stage whispers at me, purposefully leaning over as if I’m hanging on her every word. The thing is, I am. Waiting. Watching. Evaluating. Gauging when to speak. When to strike. “Tell me exactly what I want.”

I swallow down a fuck ton of bile. Picture a steel vise ramming up my spine, fortifying my posture. Staying that way, no matter how wrenching the anguish in Emma’s next groan or how heavily her grief weighs the air. I run the risk of even glancing at her now. Hearing her, smelling her, and feeling her are enough. Goddamnit, more than enough.

But I’m setting up the strike…

“Me.”

Somehow, I declare it exactly like my inner titan dictated it. No matter how deeply this starts to hurt. Holy fuck, does it hurt. Not in the blood cells that hold their charge or the muscles that keep their strength. In the other way. The worse way. In every cavern of my soul and all the tunnels of truth that connect them. In the ice that’s taking over the energy that once lived in them. The truth and energy and life of being with Emma.

Emma, lying there in such misery, helplessness, and God only knows what kind of physical fragility now.

Because of me.

Oh, holy fuck, how this hurts.

“You want me, Faline.”

I steel my jaw, closing off all sounds but one. The searing beats of my heart, echoing through my chest, my mind, my will. The will that’s still holding—and now is clearly starting to bother her. She wants the secret about the signal-blocking miracle we pulled off, but that’s not going to be enough to sway her to this deal. The only thing that changes a bully’s mind is to punch right back, and I’m prepared to do exactly that—with a blow beneath the belt if I have to.

The woman twists her dark-red lips, clearly getting at least that message from my widened stance and hardened glare. But to make this shit crystal clear, I state once more, “You want me.” And then through gritted teeth, “So let’s talk about the terms under which you’ll get me.”

As Faline contemplates that, I refocus on my heartbeat again. In every thud, I imagine the vibrant thumps of Emma’s too. I can hear her breathing. Envision her living. Know she’s alive and filling the world with her light and her love.

And in so many ways, continuing to infuse mine with the same.

It’s the only way, Velvet.

Forgive me…forgive me.

This is the only way…

The ink goes darker in Faline’s tight gaze. “And what terms would those be, cariño?”

I loosen the fists at my sides but reset the clench of my jaw. The moves share the same purpose. If need be, I’m ready to prove how serious I am. “Let them go. Emmalina, Angelique, and Wade. Set them free, and you get me.”

She quirks her lips again—this time to set up her derisive laugh. Just fine by me. I’m setting up my shot too. If it comes down to that.

“Now why would I do a thing like that, darling?” She crosses her arms, forearm atop forearm, like a lioness reveling over prey. “A queen doesn’t just give back the spoils of war, especially when the treasures are an insurance policy to ensure her consort’s good behavior.”

I notch my jaw up by another degree. “Guess it depends on what you value most about the consort.”

And because I already know the answer to that—and before she can see that I do—I strike. Swiftly. Ruthlessly. Accurately.

Directly to my crotch.

With a bolt so swift and strict, her appalled shriek doesn’t detonate until my leathers are smoking and a gash of my charred skin shows through them.

The shock impacts the bitch better than I’d hoped, compacting her focus and fizzling her electric web off the air. Foley, who’s never ripped his brain cells off the same track as mine, already knows exactly what to do with his three seconds of freedom—and before Faline’s goons can react, he’s at Emma’s side, examining the shackles just in case they can be hacked. I indulge a split second of gratitude that it’s Foley at her side right now, knowing he’s looking at my woman and seeing only a hostage in pain, needing to be freed, and not the glorious naked curves of the woman I love. If that weren’t the case, appreciation or not, I may have to consider lopping his dick off, right after mine.

But first things first.

Without ripping my glare from Faline, I take advantage of her distraction from all the goons too. They’re all just a step into pouncing toward Foley before I shoot up my free hand, pulsing them across the room until they slam against the far wall like a pile of human banana peels. By the time all that figurative dust settles, some tables have definitely been flipped—but more importantly, some doors have been opened. Several of my key suspicions are confirmed. They’re sure as fuck not comfortable to confront but are the gory truth all the same.

Which may or may not be great news for the appendage to which I’ve drawn the bitch’s terrified focus.

“Next time, I won’t go for the top of my thigh.” I drill my glare into her while gritting out every word. “And I guarantee I’ll start with my balls, darling.”

Her jaw falls open. She snaps it shut with an audible clash of teeth, only to part her lips again on a vicious seethe. “You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing.”