But it was too late, Ethan knew there was something. The past was coming for her. And Ethan wasn't letting go without a war.
Ethan lay still for a moment, quiet, calculating. His body was still warm, flushed with the residue of whatever Caleb injected into him, but the fog was lifting. His wrists strained against the ties, cheap leather, decorative. Not meant to hold someone like him.
He flexed, twisted, and snapped one loose. Lucy gasped.
"Ethan—wait—"
His hand shot out, gripping her by the wrist before she could step back. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind her she won't get away with what she had done.
"You thought this would make me see you less than what you are?" he said, voice like ice. "You think drugging me and making me watch you screw another man would make me want you?"
