He tossed the gloves aside. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, narrow eyes studied me.
"Ms. Delgado. Right now, you look like an abandoned dog."
He leaned in without warning and seized my chin.
His thumb dragged roughly across my cracked lips, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
"Lucky for you, I have a weakness for picking up feral cats. Especially the bleeding ones."
Pain shot through my jaw, bone grinding against bone. I didn't struggle.
My dead eyes met his dangerous gaze head-on.
Not only did I refuse to flinch—I closed the distance myself, letting my warm breath fall against his throat.
"If Mr. Finley is brave enough to take in a feral cat, isn't he worried I'll tear his throat out?"
I tugged at the corner of my mouth. The movement pulled at the bruise on my cheek.
"Lend me your power. I'm taking back the East District."
A low laugh rumbled from Christian's throat.
He wasn't angry. Not even close. Those long fingers traced down my neck, then wrenched open the thin collar of my prison uniform in one sharp motion.
The sound of tearing fabric was deafening in the sealed cabin.