CHAPTER 4: TOUCH OF A SINNER

POV ESMERAY

I didn't sleep. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, the roar of Ruan’s motorcycle or the metallic sound of his blade echoed in my mind. I stayed curled at the very edge of the king-sized bed, clutching the black sheets as if they were a life raft, acutely aware of the steady, deep breathing of the man lying only a few feet away. Ruan Montague was a storm even when he was silent, a predator that didn't need to move to let you know he could destroy you.

When the first rays of gray light began to filter through the steel bars of the window, the door to the room swung open with a bang.

—Prez! We’ve got trouble at the south docks. The Vipers are moving in on the shipment— a gravelly voice shouted from the hallway.

Ruan was out of bed before I could even blink. His reflexes were inhuman. He didn't look at me as he grabbed a clean shirt and his leather vest, his movements sharp and precise.

—Stay here, Esmeray— he commanded, his voice thick with sleep but laced with steel. —If you step out of this room without me, my men have orders to bring you back by any means necessary. And trust me, you won't like their methods.

He didn't wait for my defiance. He slammed the door, and a second later, I heard the lock turn.

I spent the next four hours pacing the room like a caged animal. I examined every inch of my prison. The furniture was expensive but cold, the air smelled of him, and the silence was agonizing. I felt my skin itching with the need to do something, to be useful, to be anywhere but in the room of a murderer.

Around noon, the silence was shattered by the sound of multiple engines roaring into the courtyard below. There were shouts, the clatter of metal, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber. My heart leaped into my throat. Was it an attack? Was I about to be traded to another monster?

The lock clicked, and the door flew open. Ruan stumbled in, his face pale and his jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter. His hand was pressed against his side, and dark, crimson blood was seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt.

—Ruan!— I gasped, rushing toward him instinctively. My nursing training kicked in before my fear could stop me. —You’re bleeding.

—I’m fine— he growled, trying to push me away, but his knees buckled, and he had to lean against the dresser for support. —It’s just a graze. Get back, Esmeray.

—Shut up and sit down— I snapped, my voice sounding firmer than it had since he kidnapped me. —You’re pale, you’re sweating, and you’re bleeding out on the floor. I might be your prisoner, but I’m still a nurse, and I won't watch you die in front of me.

He looked at me then, his icy blue eyes narrowing as if he were seeing me for the first time. For a moment, I thought he might strike me for my insolence, but instead, he let out a jagged breath and slumped into the armchair.

—Fine. Do your job, little bird— he muttered, his head falling back against the leather.

I ran to the bathroom and grabbed a first-aid kit I’d spotted earlier, along with a bowl of warm water and clean towels. When I returned, I knelt between his legs, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

—Take off the shirt— I whispered.

Ruan groaned as he pulled the ruined fabric over his head, tossing it aside. Seeing him like this, under the harsh light of day, took my breath away for all the wrong reasons. His chest was a landscape of scars and intricate black ink, a history of violence written in skin. But the most prominent thing was the deep gash along his ribs, jagged and angry.

I dipped a cloth into the water and began to clean the wound. The moment my fingers brushed his skin, a jolt of electricity shot through my hand, making me gasp. His skin was hot, vibrating with a raw energy that felt like a physical weight.

Ruan hissed, his muscles coiling under my touch. I could feel the tension in his thighs, centimeters away from my knees. He was staring down at me, his gaze heavy and burning.

—Your hands are cold— he rasped, his voice dropping an octave.

—And yours are too hot— I countered, trying to focus on the wound instead of the way his abdominals rippled every time he took a breath. —It’s deep. You need stitches.

—Then stitch me up. I’ve had worse.

I worked in silence for the next twenty minutes. I was hyper-aware of everything: the way his scent—leather and copper—filled my lungs, the sound of his ragged breathing, and the way his eyes never left my face. As I threaded the needle and began the delicate work, I felt his hand move.

He didn't grab me. Instead, he rested his large, calloused hand on the back of my neck, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin behind my ear. The contact was so unexpected, so intimate, that I froze, the needle hovering inches from his skin.

—You’re trembling— he whispered, his thumb drawing slow, mesmerizing circles on my skin.

—I’m not— I lied, though my voice betrayed me.

—You’re a healer, Esmeray. Everything about you is soft, clean, and full of life— he leaned forward, his face so close to mine that our breaths mingled. —Why do you look at me like I’m the plague when you’re the one holding my life in your hands right now?

—Because you are the plague, Ruan— I whispered back, my eyes locked onto his. —You’re a killer. You took me from my life. You expect me to just... what? Fall for the man who keeps me in a cage?

Ruan’s hand tightened slightly on my neck, pulling me just a fraction closer. The air in the room became thick, electric, impossible to breathe. His eyes dropped to my lips, and for a terrifying, exhilarating second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I knew I should pull away, I knew I should hate this, but my body felt heavy, anchored by the heat of his touch.

—Maybe— he murmured, his voice a dark caress. —Or maybe you’re just realizing that even in a cage, the bird can start to love the hand that feeds it.

He leaned in, his lips a hair’s breadth from mine, his scent intoxicating me, making me forget the blood and the bars. Just as the world began to blur, a heavy knock sounded on the door.

—Prez? The Vipers’ leader is on the phone. He wants to talk about the girl.

The spell broke instantly. Ruan pulled back, his expression hardening back into the cold mask of the President of the Steel Phantoms. He stood up, seemingly unfazed by the stitches I’d just finished, and grabbed a clean leather vest.

He walked to the door, but before leaving, he paused and looked at me over his shoulder.

—Finish cleaning up, Esmeray. And remember— he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. —The Vipers want you dead. I’m the only reason you’re still breathing. Don't make me regret choosing you over them.

The door slammed shut, the heavy click of the lock echoing like a final sentence. I looked down at my hands, still stained with his blood—the blood of a killer, the blood of the man who had stolen my life.

My skin was still tingling where he had touched me, a traitorous heat spreading through my veins. I realized then, with a sickening jolt of terror, that Ruan Montague was right. The Vipers wanted my head, but Ruan... Ruan wanted something much more dangerous.

He didn't just want my silence. He wanted my surrender.