Xander roughly pulls my arms behind my back, holding both my wrists in just one of his own. And even as I hate him for doing this to me, I can’t help but feel how warm his hand is against my cold skin. How his fingers are curling around my wrists. I swallow my desire down and fix a scowl to my face as Savage and Scythe stand like rigid giants before me, glowering with hate. Oddly, strangely—perhaps disturbingly—neither of the brothers look down past my face. “Lia,” Savage says quietly, and my heart cries at the way he says my name. But he’s frowning and fingering the pink handbag.
