Chapter Thirty Three
Ace still tasted metal. It sat stubbornly at the back of her tongue, a coppery tang of blood and the chemical he’d forced into her veins, and every swallow scraped against a throat that felt scorched. Her skin buzzed like she’d been plugged into a current, pulse hammering too loud in her ears. Even the soft hotel lighting felt like sandpaper against her eyes. She blinked hard, once, twice, forcing her vision to settle, forcing herself to sit taller in the chair, to remember who she was. “What… did you do to me?” she rasped, voice rough, thin. Jameson didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He sat there like this was a casual dinner instead of a k********g, ankle resting over one knee, shoulders loose, hands folded. The picture of control. As if she hadn’t tried to pry her way out
- Writer
