Chapter 13 · Second Protocol

"Finish it," Milo says, and shoves his own collar down with a thumb still shaking from the fight. "You started it. You don't get to leave it half-done."

My mouth is an inch off his throat. Blood's already up from where his teeth caught my shoulder ten minutes ago, and the taste of him sits under my tongue like copper and something sweeter, something that makes my jaw want to lock and never let go.

"Say that again," I tell him, "and I will."

"Do it, Rourke."

I bite down.

He doesn't make the sound I expect. No whimper, no give. His whole body goes rigid under mine, a wall of muscle bracing against the floor, and then he flips the pin — gravity switching sides so fast the back of my skull cracks the container's ribbed steel. Bone on bone. My teeth stay locked in his skin the whole way over. He's on top now, forearm crushing my collarbone, breath sawing hot against my ear.

"There," he grunts. "Now we're even."

"We were never gonna be even.