Lorelei
The sharp, bitter smell of old oil clung to my clothes as I stepped out of the shadowy warehouse. Zayden was still reeling from the ambush—his pride, if not his bones, broken.
He’d tried to recover with a final act of violence, hurling himself at me, hatred twisting his face.
I let him come.
His hand shot out, aiming for my throat, but all those years fighting for my life on the fringes had honed my instincts to a knife’s edge.
I dodged, spinning out of his reach, then locked my arm across his shoulder and slammed him down. Concrete shuddered beneath his body. He gasped, stunned.
“You should know better than to play predator with me, Zayden,” I said quietly, my voice steady as nightfall around us.
“We’re not on some set, and I don’t believe in your kind of dr
