Page 31 of Reclaimed

These are some pretty fucked standards when the majority of their market is shaped like bags of wet saltines.

"Would you fuck her?" I ask, flipping my screen towards Slade.

He leans forward to swipe through the images. "It'd be better if she could manage some more facial expressions," he murmurs, adjusting his glasses and leaning back in his chair. "But she's got a good body. Why?"

"They lowered her value for a scar she's had on her stomach since she became an Asset seven years ago."

I flip the screen back around and zoom in on her face, wanting one last taste of that defiant look she wears so well. But in these photos, her eyes are dull. Irritation slithers beneath my skin as I close out of the app and check the time.

It's only nine, but I'm too tired to think straight. The nap I took before Slade returned wasn’t nearly long enough.

"I'm headed out," I grumble, pocketing my phone as I push to my feet, swallowing the rest of my beer in one long gulp.

"This early?" he scoffs, folding his arms over his chest.

"Still catching up from last week, and I've got to sign for the cabin's off-grid security power cell first thing."

Slade rolls his eyes. "It’ll be outdated by the time you finish that place."

I raise my middle finger in his direction, boots scuffing against the black polished concrete as I head for the door.

"What's the deal with her anyways?" Slade asks.

And even though I know he's clocked the hesitation I feel in my step, it'll be a cold day in hell before I acknowledge it.

"Later," I mutter.

"Rest up kid,” Slade calls as I reach the door. “When I'm back, we're going to Eleventh House."

I just grunt in response, stepping out into the hall.

I head for my apartment, my mind still churning over all the documents I haven't even opened yet. I don't have any real reason to sort through Jersey or her dead Guardian's file anymore, but as today's assignment proved, people can hold more than just their own secrets.

11

TALON

The music from the dance floor vibrates through the walls of the private room, but it’s not nearly loud enough to drown out the breathy, incessant moans coming from the bitch riding my dick.

I close my eyes, tipping my head back against the leather couch and trying to create as much distance as I can from someone I’m literally balls deep in. I try to focus on the way her cunt feels gripping my cock, and for a minute, it actually works. The familiar tingle at the base of my spine builds, and I know I’m getting close.

Then she curls in on my chest, her warm breath skating across my neck with another nasally little whine that makes my dick want to retract into my fucking body.

“I’m close,” she moans.

That severs my final fucking nerve. My hand shoots up, fingers closing tightly around her throat. Her eyes go wide as I flip us over, her back smacking against the leather couch cushion.

I brace one foot on the floor, something sharp from the couch digging into my other knee, but I don’t give a fuck. Before she manages another sound– or I snap her neck– I cut off her air and drive into her ruthlessly, chasing what I came here for.

Her hands clamp onto my wrists, fingernails digging into my skin. I look down, unable to tell whether the streams of azure light pulsing over her face or my grip on her neck is making her lips look blue. She isn’t fighting back hard enough for it to be the latter. She’s compliant in letting me do my worst, and honestly, it’s no fun without the fight.

I flex my grip, a flicker of fear washing over her features, brows pinching together.

There it is.

My balls start to tighten and I quicken the pace of my brutal thrusts. Her nails pierce my flesh as the walls of her pussy flutter around me, the oxygen deprivation pushing her over the edge. Tears slide down her cheeks, and I finally find my release, releasing my grip on her throat as I come with a groan, sinking back against the cushions.

She sucks in a sharp inhale and rolls off the couch, coughing and sputtering on all fours at my feet while cum still leaks from my tip.