Chapter 10 · Corridor B

"Don't move." My knee's still in his sternum and the tape's still in my teeth, and Levi Grant looks up at me like he's deciding whether biting is worth losing a finger.

"Get off me, Ortega."

"Not till this holds." I press the gauze flat, harder than I need to, and his jaw locks so tight I hear it grind. Bone on bone, almost. Good. That's the test. Pain's the only honest language a man like him speaks.

His hand finds my wrist. Doesn't pull it off. Just closes around it, hard enough to bruise, like he's memorizing where to hit back later.

"You like this," he says. Not a question.

"I like you bleeding on my table instead of my career."

That's when the box on the wall coughs static and a voice that isn't a person says, flat as a dial tone: "Corridor camera B. Reactivated. Feed live."

We both go still. His hand's still on my wrist. My knee's still on his chest, all my weight in it, gravity pinning him to the vinyl.