Chapter 18 · The Only Honest Thing I Own

"Stop fighting me, Ivy. You know exactly what happens if you don't."

Cain’s voice was a low grate. A whisper that vibrated straight through my spine. He had me pinned against the mahogany desk, his hand locked around my wrist, crushing it flat against the wood. One more inch of pressure and my bone would snap.

"I know what happens," I spat. I twisted my shoulder, desperate for a sliver of air. "You get your little fix and I get a headache. Thrilling."

He didn't laugh. He didn't even blink. He just leaned in.

His chest brushed mine. The heat radiating off him was predatory, suffocating. My lungs felt too small. His eyes weren't just dark—they were bottomless. Like he was drowning and decided to drag me down with him.

"You think this is a game," he murmured. His breath was hot against my ear. "You think a little spark of power makes you my equal? It doesn't. It makes you a tool. My tool."

"I'm not a tool, Cain. I'm a prisoner. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

He shifted. His thigh slid between mine, forcing my back to arch.