Part 15 (2/2)
He slipped her fifty bucks and took her behind a Dumpster.
”I want you to call me David,” he said.
”Sure thing.” She smiled as she undid her coat and flashed her bare chest. ”What do you want to call-”
He clamped a hand over her mouth and started to squeeze. He didn't stop until her eyes were popping.
”Say my name,” he commanded.
O released his grip and waited. When all she did was hyperventilate, he took out his knife and pressed it into her throat.
”Say my name.”
”David,” she whispered.
”Tell me that you love me.” When she hesitated, he p.r.i.c.ked the skin of her neck with the tip of the blade. Her blood welled up and slid down the s.h.i.+ny metal. ”Say it.”
Her sloppy b.r.e.a.s.t.s, so unlike Jennifer's, pumped up and down. ”I... I love you.”
He closed his eyes. The voice was all wrong.
This just wasn't giving him what he needed.O's anger rose to an uncontrollable level.
Chapter Sixteen.
Rhage heaved the barbell up from his chest, teeth bared, body shaking, sweat pouring off him.
”That's ten,” Butch called out.
Rhage set the load back on the stand above him, hearing the thing groan as the weights rattled and fell still.
”Add another fifty.”
Butch leaned over the bar. ”You got five-twenty-five on there already, my man.”
”And I need another fifty.”
Hazel eyes narrowed. ”Easy, Hollywood. You want to shred your pecs, that's your business. But don't take my head off.”
”Sorry.” He sat up and shook out his burning arms. It was nine in the morning, and he and the cop had been in the weight room since seven. There wasn't one part of his body that wasn't on fire, but quitting was a long way off. He was shooting for the kind of physical exhaustion that went into the bone.
”Are we there yet?” he muttered.
”Let me tighten the clamps. Okay, good to go.”
Rhage laid back down, hoisted the barbell off the stand, and let it rest on his chest. He marshaled his breathing before pumping the weight.
Stray. Dog.
Stray. Dog.
Stray. Dog.
He controlled the load until the last two reps, when Butch had to step in and spot.
”You finished?” Butch asked as he helped settle the bar on the stand.
Rhage sat up and panted, resting his forearms on his knees. ”One more set of reps after this break.”
Butch came around in front, twisting the s.h.i.+rt he'd taken off into a rope. Thanks to all the lifting they'd been doing, the male's chest and arm muscles were thickening up, and he hadn't been small to begin with. He couldn't pull the kind of iron Rhage did, but for a human, the guy was a bulldozer.
”You're getting into some kind of shape, cop.”
”Aw, come on, now.” Butch grinned. ”Don't let that shower we took go to your head.”
Rhage fired a towel at the male. ”Just pointing out your beer gut's gone.”
”It was a Scotch pot. And I don't miss it.” Butch ran a hand over his six-pack. ”Now, tell me something. Why are you beating the c.r.a.p out of yourself this morning?”
”You have much interest in talking about Marissa?”
The human's face tightened up. ”Not particularly.”
”So you can understand if I don't have a lot to say.”
Butch's dark brows rose. ”You've got a woman? As in, one specific woman?”
”I thought we weren't talking about females.”
The cop crossed his arms and frowned. Kind of like he was a.s.sessing a blackjack hand and trying to decide whether to take another hit from the dealer.
He spoke fast and hard. ”I've got it bad for Marissa. She won't see me. That's it, the whole story. Now tell me about your nightmare.”
Rhage had to smile. ”The idea I'm not the only one on the skids is a relief.”
”That tells me nothing. I want details.”
”The female threw me out of her house early this morning after doing a job on my ego.”
”What kind of hatchet did she use?”
”An unflattering comparison between me and a free-agent canine.”
<script>