“Wait, what? Michael’s here? Your Michael?”

Zeth snorts, carrying his black bag to the bed and unzipping it beside me. “He’s checked into the room two doors down from us. Swanning around like he owns the place.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.” Zeth’s amusement levels seem to have evened out again. He turns to face me, apparently finished fiddling with his duffel of tricks. “All you need to do is take something out of this bag and use it on me. And make me believe it.”

“Uhh…”

“Do it. Right now.”

“I…I can’t. It’s not that simple, Zeth. I can’t just decide to—”

He lunges for me, placing a hand over my mouth. “Stop talking.” He climbs up onto the bed, hovering over me, his face only a short inch away from mine. “Stop. Talking. Start. Doing.”

Despite his words, I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t think I can do it. This is exactly the same thing as him telling me to own him—he thinks I’m too self-conscious to do it. It’s very true, but it’s also seriously annoying. He wants me to start doing? Fine. I’m gonna give him what he wants. I already know he is not going to like what I do next. His hand’s still over my mouth, so I tilt my head to the side and clamp my teeth over his index finger, biting down.

“Sloane.”

I bite down harder, staring him straight in the eye. His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else. I have to release him for the next part. There are small red wheels on his finger as he pulls his hand away; that makes me smile on the inside, overly happy that I’ve marked him for once.

“Get off me,” I command.

He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions. Do as your told.”

He smiles at me, wolfish and dangerous. I take the smile straight off his face when I slap him with my open palm. Hard. He looks momentarily stunned.

“Do you need me to ask you again?” I ask him. My cheeks are burning so hot that I must look ridiculous, bright red and flustered, especially with my chest rising and falling so quickly. Zeth isn’t looking at my chest or my cheeks, though. He’s looking me straight in the eye, transfixed. I can see him warring with himself over what I’ve just done to him. He hates me slapping him. He hates me lashing out at him in any way; I already know that from past experience. And yet, this is his own doing. He can’t react. He’s told me to do this.

He straightens up slowly, still staring at me. Once he’s moved away, I sit up and slide off the bed, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. I can do this. I can do it if I don’t let myself panic, even for a split second. If I do, I’ll never regain my resolve. A part of me is simply wondering how badly I’m going to be paying for this later.

The duffel’s already open. I draw it apart so I can get a better look inside, and I almost lose it right there and then. I’ve never seen anything like it before in all my life. It’s part sex shop, part hardware store in there. Knowing Zeth, I have no idea which one of those stores the coils of strapping or the sheathed knives come from, and frankly I’m scared to find out. There’s other stuff in there: ball gags, handcuffs, lengths of rope, a sleek silver bullet shaped vibrator that looks brand new. Along side all of that, there’s a knuckle-duster, a gun and what I suspect to be a Taser. The roll of duct tape really finishes the whole thing off for me.

I hesitate. Who the hell am I dealing with here? This is a stark reminder that Zeth is a whole lot darker than anyone else I’ve ever met. A whole lot more dangerous. He’s never pretended to be anything else, a small voice in my head reminds me. I glance up to find him watching me closely, hands clenched by his sides. It’s almost as if…almost as if he’s done this on purpose. He’s made me look in the bag. To see who he is. He must think I’m going to run. He must literally be waiting for it to happen. That’s not who I am, though. Not right now, at least. Maybe I’ll revert to reserved, timid Sloane as soon as I have Alexis back, but until then…

I pick up the gun.

“Stand up.”

Zeth couldn’t look more surprised if I’d actually shot him with the thing already. “Sloane…”

“I said stand up.” I check the clip, take the safety off, and then I aim the thing directly at his chest. I’m still panting like crazy, still red in the face, but I can feel something shifting inside me. I’m not nervous anymore. Not with this weapon in my hand. Zeth stands up slowly, never taking his eyes off me.

“When I told you to take something out of the bag—”

“Yeah, I get it. You didn’t expect me to pick this. Now take off your shirt.”

He does it, slipping the clothing over his head quickly, as though he doesn’t want to take his eyes off me for a second. I want to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of the half-naked man in front of me, but I can’t let him know what he does to me. Instead I gesture the gun at his pants, raising my eyebrows. He gets my meaning—those, too. He kicks off his shoes and loses the pants, all without looking away.

“Now what?” he asks.

“Shut up. Come here.” He makes his way around the bed and comes to stand before me in his boxers, looming over me. He’s trying to intimidate me with his size, but it’s not going to work. Not this time. It must come as a shock to him; I get the feeling he’s relied on his stature to scare the living shit out of a lot of people for a very long time. I’m gonna take that advantage away from him. “Get on your knees.” This command makes him pause. I don’t think he planned on things going this way at all. Not one bit. He doesn’t do it straight away. I shove the muzzle of the gun into his chest, pressing down hard enough to depress skin and muscle. He gets the picture.