Chapter 89
Det 5
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The sharp crack of a slap shattered the quiet night, echoing starkly down the empty corridor. The sound rang clear and cruel, cutting through the stillness like a knife. Larkin turned his head slowly, almost in disbelief, and lifted his hand to his cheek, where a sharp sting burned freshly.
“That was quite a slap,” he murmured, voice low, carrying an edge of surprise.
Georgia’s hand trembled slightly, but her gaze burned with fierce resolve. The raw satisfaction of retaliation coursed through her veins, warming the chill that clung to her skin. “Mr. Nash,” she said, voice steady despite the trembling, “you love to rub salt into other people’s wounds, don’t you? Well, now you know what it feels like. It hurts.”
Without waiting for his response, she spun on her heel and strode up the stairs, the echo of her footsteps mixing with the fading sting in the air. Larkin remained motionless, fingers still pressed against his burning cheek, his eyes dark and unreadable as they followed her retreating figure until it vanished from sight.
Eventually, he descended the staircase, slipped quietly out of the neighborhood, and slid into the sleek sports car parked nearby. The warmth of the leather seat contrasted sharply with the burning on his face. His fingers returned instinctively to the reddened skin, and he exhaled slowly, a sound more like a sigh than a breath. “It really does hurt,” he admitted softly.
Larkin pulled out his phone and dialed, “Mason, he said without preamble.
“What time do you think it is?” Mason’s voice crackled through the line, heavy with irritation.
Larkin ignored the complaint, cutting straight to the point. “Someone hit me.”
Mason’s tone shifted immediately, professional and alert. “Which pack? How many? Can you handle them?”
Larkin heard the rustle of Mason pulling on clothes in the background.
“Just one,” Larkin replied.
“One? Really?” Mason frowned, puzzled. He s Chapter Unlocked, Enjoy Reading! ex of fighters in Gabbs, trying to place who could have taken on Larkin alone–and maybe won. None came to mind. His voice dropped uncertainly. “Preston?”
“No,” Larkin answered dryly. “I mean I was slapped.”
Mason’s confusion deepened. “By who?”
“The prey,” Larkin said, excitement threading his words. “The one told you about. Mason, I’m more intrigued by this prey with every passing day. I want to leave a mark on her–a scar so deep, so personal, she won’t let anyone else touch it.”
Mason cut him off, valce urgent. “Larkin, do you realize what you’re doing?You’re playing with fire.”
“Enough.” Larkin smiled, the sound carrying a dangerous edge. “I’m driving now. Talk–later.”
“Stop it. Now! Do you hear me?”
The line went dead mid–sentence, replaced by a harsh busy tone.
Mason slammed his phone onto the mattress in frustration.
He’d heard Larkin drone on about this “prey” more times than he could count, but this obsession felt different–unsettling. Larkin, usually so controlled, was acting strangely for a woman.
“Damn it,” Mason cursed, snatching up the phope. He tapped out a terse message: Just stop! Don’t let yourself become the second me!
At a red light, Larkin saw the text pop up. He sneered, muttering to himself, “Stop? This hunt’s only getting good. Why quit now?”
Mason’s warning didn’t even register. Larkin pressed a button; the convertible’s roof slid open. The car surged forward, wind whipping through his hair, wild and free on the empty nighttime highway. He threw his head back and shouted into the storm of air, the night swallowing his roar.
The next day, Georgia found Larkin waiting again at the threshold of her dormitory.
<Chapter 89
“Didn’t I tell you not to come again? We shouldn’t see each other.”
Money gnawed relentlessly at her thoughts. “What the hell is wrong with me? Why did I push away the only rich man who might help? He’s probably my only chance at getting that million.”
A dull heat flickered beneath the scar on her forehead.
“I’m hungry,” Larkin said softly, his voice magnetic. He held out a check–one hundred thousand dollars–sliding it toward her like a tempting promise. “Are you really going to turn me down so thoroughly? Is your pride worth that much? You need a million dollars, right? Doesn’t that mean the world to you? Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
Georgia wavered. The weight of desperation tugged at her resolve.
“What if I want to touch your wound? You can always dodge. If you manage to dodge once, I swear I won’t touch it again, Larkin added smoothly.
It was an offer, a game. What Larkin craved was the thrill of the chase. What Georgia craved was the cold hard cash.
“You know, whether you say yes or not, I’ll always find a way. Even if I don’t come here, I’ll track you down at Vetro Club,” Larkin said, his tone both warming and promise.
Though irritation flickered inside her, Georgia couldn’t deny the truth in his words. She lowered her eyes, silent.
After a long moment, she lifted her head, voice hesitant but clear. “One more thing. You can’t use force on me. Otherwise, I can’t dodge you. You know that, Mr. Nash,”
“Sure,” Larkin agreed easily.
She studied him warily, suspicious of how readily he consented. Yet after running over their conversation in her mind, she found no flaw in the deal.
“I’m hungry,” Larkin said again.
“Come in.” Georgia unlocked the door and stepped aside, leading him inside.
Larkin settled into his usual chair, watching as Georgia moved through the kitchen with practiced precision. Her movements were quiet and ordered, almost ritualistic, and he found himself growing accustomed to the rhythm of this strange routine.
When the meal ended, Larkin produced a handkerchief, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth with a grace that seemed almost foreign. The silence between them was thick but strangely harmonious, as if their strange ritual had been played out countless times before.
Still, Georgia remained on edge, silent, her gaze never leaving Larkin as she maintained a careful distance, ever watchful,
