Page 170 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

Through the blur, I saw Cyrus shove him hard. “What the fuck, man?”

Nix had always reeked of little man syndrome—like those dicks with lifted trucks and metal balls on the hitch. I’d always assumed he was the one groping me in the woods that night, but never imagined I’d be face to face with him again.

I blinked tears from my eyes, laughed maniacally, and spat blood at his feet.

“Bless your heart,” I said in my best Southern drawl. “Sweetie, was that supposed to hurt?”

“Keep runnin’ your mouth and you’ll be spittin’ teeth.”

I widened my eyes in mock terror. “Best hurry, now—your comebacks are just as wretched as your reflexes.”

“Cyrus,” he barked, glaring at the man still watching me intently. “She’s worm food. You ending this, or am I?”

“You afraid I’ll tell your mother what you really did all those years ago?”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he snapped, turning back to Cyrus. “She’s a liability. A loose end is better off cut.”

I gasped, slumping into the crook of my arm, wailing, “Oh no! Whatever will I do in a world without your glittering personality?”

Cyrus muttered, clearing his throat, “To be fair…her odds of survival probably rise with each of your demands.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Carrson stepped forward, hands flexing at his sides, eyes trained on his hothead brother.

Close now—so close.

One. More. Push?

“You’re really giving me all four inches, but it’s just not getting the job done, is it, buddy? I’d think you were used to this response by now.”

The slap came as expected—though that didn’t dull the agony. My neck howled as my head snapped sideways, vision blurring with tears. His fists pounded into my ribs like a drumline, and my body swung, air crushed from my lungs.

Lucky for me, my reflexes didn’t need vision.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, yanking him closer, and slammed my forehead into the bridge of his nose with a satisfying crunch. Bone and cartilage cracked under the blow. Before I could sink my teeth in, his forearm caught me across the face and flung me back.

Note to self: elbow to the face? Zero out of ten—do not fucking recommend. As satisfying as that busted nose was, I needed more than a splatter of blood. I needed a mouthful.

I dragged my toes across the concrete, trying to slow the swing of the chains, coughing out blood and spit as I wheezed, “Oh, there you are, princess.”

The asshole lunged—but Cyrus was faster, slamming into him as two more uniforms charged in.

“She’s not ours to break!” Cyrus barked. “Fuckin’ hell, Nix.”

A short scuffle followed, my name tossed like a curse in the chaos.

Still gasping for air, I snickered as they dragged Nix off, snarling with bruised pride.

Once on his feet, he barked, “I’m cool! Don’t fuckin’ touch me.” They might’ve set him down, but they didn’t back off—two bodies firmly planted between him and me.

“Just had to poke the bear?” Cyrus growled, storming back toward me.

“Wouldn’t want the poor thing to trip over his ego again, would you?”

“Dammit, Freya,” he snapped, yanking his hood down and tearing off his mask.

God.