Primal Pursuit - Page 166

“Rabbit, get your ass moving.”

I step over the body, still shaking, and meet up with Davian outside. He pulls me to him and lowers his mouth to mine. His kiss is a slow, bone melting thing, deep and hot, and it’s like atoms colliding, twisting together. Our tongues dance and duel, lap and lick and devour. If a kiss had supernatural powers, this one would burn to ash.

When he lifts his head, my world is hazy, floating, unstable.

“Come on,” he says against my lips. “We have a turkey to pluck and kill.”

“I think you mean kill and pluck because you usually kill the turkey first and?—”

“Missing the point, Rabbit.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

He hands me all the things he took from the safe then takes my other hand. Is he being this way with me to stop me from killing him?

No. That’s not Davian’s style.

He doesn’t play cowardly games.

He’ll take my guns, knives, but he’s not about to give me one and stop me using it. That isn’t how he plays. He likes the razor edge of danger; he likes walking a deadly path. He likes to hunt on extreme levels.

Rendering me toothless isn’t how he plays. That’s boring.

Davian hates boring.

I don’t even question any of that because it’s true. I know it. Feel it. The same need is in me. I think it’s why I played with him so long, why I kept coming back when I could have tried to end him.

That and the scorching sex that still sets my bones on fire just thinking about it.

But even now, as we cross back to the mansion, I know this is nearly done.

We go in through the hallway and to the main room.

Davian motions to the bag. “Put that shit in there, Rabbit.”

Then he goes down on his haunches. He checks his watch, glances at the door, and then he slaps the man, Antonio, who tries to wiggle away but can’t.

I know I should feel bad. Something like guilt or remorse. The man’s face is covered in blood, and I’m pretty sure he’s been crying.

He’s also been trying to get out of the restraints, if his twisted pajama bottoms that are pulling hard on his cock and balls are anything to go by, as well as how the robe is off to one side and cutting into an arm.

I should, I guess, feel bad. But I don’t.

Not even a tiny bit.

I’m not sure what that makes me, but I’m guessing it’s nothing good.

“Antonio, this is nothing personal. You understand that,” Davian says. “A hit’s a hit, so I hope you can take it like a man. This is ordered by Del Rossa. You should have kept to your lane. But for me, it’s not personal.”

He yanks the gag from the man’s mouth.

“It never is, is it?” Antonio grits out.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Davian laughs. “It’s not personal to me. I don’t give a shit if you live or die. You got too big, stepped on the wrong toes, and I’m being paid for your death. But this is personal to some. Like Poppy here. To my rabbit, this is very personal.” He glances at me. “Ask her why.”

Antonio looks at me. “Why are you running around with this piece of shit?”

“Wrong fucking question.” Davian slaps him again. “Ask why this is personal.”