“Miss Whitehall. Let go,” Eli whispers.

The dress falls in slow motion like an avalanche and then January Whitehall is standing in her wedding lingerie and heels, her long veil still fixed to her hair. Her body is sleek and well-muscled. Her underwear is sluttier than I expected. Her big tits spill out of a tiny corset and there’s barely a scrap of lace between her legs.

Bobby makes a squashed cat sound and coughs into his fist to cover it.

Ell gives her a cold smile. I can practically see the numbers whirring in his head, the girl’s value rising higher.

January wraps her arms around herself and tilts her head so the veil falls across her shoulder. It’s even more obscene than if she stood there naked. Doc catches my eye and winks. I remember him as a teenager, setting his sights on some Manhattan princess no one thought he could have. Seducing her like someone paid him to do it. The girl needs to die before this gets messy.

Ell gestures to the chair in front of the camera. “Please take a seat.”

She obeys—probably welcoming the barest cover it provides from hungry eyes.

“Thank you. Bobby, camera?”

“It’s recording.”

“Then who should do the honors?” Eli asks.

I frown. “Why not you?”

“I need to talk.”

“You can’t talk and fuck at the same time?”

The girl lets out a pitiful moan we all ignore.

“It will look better if it’s simultaneous,” Eli considers Basher. “No, not you.”

Doc points to his chest. “Me?”

“You already kissed her you pezzo di merda.” Piece of shit.

“Fine. Then it should be who Parker wants to see the least. The gargoyle.”

Ell turns to me. “Do you want to do it?”

That heat again, boiling through my veins. Setting my muscles twitching. “Whatever works.”

“Fine. Use the Walther.”

I stride to the table by the fire and pick up the gun. Basher practically lunges for me. “Not that one.”

I raise the weapon, ready to crack it over his head but he waves his hands. “I don’t wanna stop you. There’s blood on it.”

I look down. The barrel is flecked with Cooper’s gore. “Huh.”

I turn to the girl, disgust etched into every line of her pretty, childish face. My chest tightens. For years I’ve watched her from a distance, but this is hatred at close range. “You still want me to use it?” I ask Eli.

He grins. “You’re a sick man. No. Use yours.”

I hand Bobby the Walther and unholster my Glock. “You’ll do the talking?”

Eli checks his hair in a nearby mirror. “Of course. Let’s go.”

The girl goes still as I approach. Fixed like a bunny in headlights.

“Open your mouth.”

She presses her full lips together. They’re so plush it’s as if they were designed by a man who spent years perfecting the art. I reach out to pinch her nostrils but before I do, she complies. I stare into the expanse of her mouth and my cock stiffens against my leg. It’s not a slow acceleration, I go from detached to hard as if I was sunk into a woman and I imagine fucking the girl’s face while the others watch. Coming down her virgin throat.