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“Or do you want me to be a good boy and get down on my knees and beg for you?” Her eyes go wide. She licks her lips slowly, and the switch flips in her. I feel it. Like an electric charge between us as her nails drag over my shirt. That touch hits like a spark. Fuck, it burns like it too. I’m holding back. Every muscle in my body is begging to snap. But I won’t. She needs this—control. Power. I want to be the one to give it back to her.
I didn’t even realize I needed someone to catch me when I was falling. And then Conan crashes into my life.
The spark I lost seems to ignite again when I’m around him.
She makes my mind quiet.
“What’re the chances you can bring someone back to life? I wanna kill him again. Think I rushed it.”
Mine.
A whimper escapes him and that sends ripples through me. Holy shit.
He’s the match. And I’m the spark. Together, we burn bright.
Physical pain mutes the emotional turmoil.
“Oh, just business things with him and the men who run Vegas.” She says it so casually.
Who is your dad?!
Because he isn’t the villain in my story. He’s the storm that washed all the pain away. Conan Quinn didn’t just spark something in me—he struck a match and set my soul on fire.
