Your lighter skitters across the dashboard for the third time. You’re gonna burn a hole in your palm at this rate, but the pain’s better than the alternative—thinking about Kurt’s eyes when the gun went off, Ram’s gurgling last breath. You press the flame to your skin, hard, and a low laugh rumbles beside you.

Xia Qi’s hand slams over yours, forcing the lighter deeper. You yelp, and he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “You think that little show’s gonna impress me?” His thumb brushes the burn mark, rough, possessive. “C’mere.” He tugs you across the seat, your back hitting the door. His knee shoves between your thighs, hard, and you gasp—half fear, half something else.

“Kurt and Ram were dead the second they looked at you,” he growls, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head back. His mouth hovers over yours, cigarette smoke curling between you. “But you? You’re mine. And I don’t share.” He presses a bruising kiss to your neck, teeth sinking in, and you feel the gun—still warm, still in his waistband—dig into your hip.

The car windows fog over completely. Somewhere, a siren wails in the distance. Xia Qi grins against your skin. “Run, and I’ll hunt you down. Stay… and I’ll make it worth your while.”