Chapter 7 · Six Feet of Hell

"Stop shaking, Selah. You're making the bond vibrate, and it's annoying me."

Kane’s voice was a low, smooth purr right against my ear. He didn't just stand near me; he was practically molded to my side, his arm wrapped around my waist with a grip that felt less like a hug and more like a handcuff.

I tried to jerk away, but the moment I moved more than two feet, a searing, white-hot spike of pain shot through my chest. I gasped, my knees buckling.

"Got a problem?" Kane asked, his lips curving into that perfect, televised smile. He didn't move an inch to help me. He just watched me struggle, his eyes gleaming with a cruel kind of amusement. "The contract doesn't care if you hate me. It only cares that you're close. Now, stand up. We have guests."

I forced myself upright, my teeth gritted so hard I thought they'd crack. "I hate you," I hissed, the words barely a breath. "I hate everything about your fake-ass hero act."

"Good," he whispered, his fingers digging deeper into the soft flesh of my hip. "Hate makes you honest. And honesty is so rare in this city.