You glare up at him defiantly, your wrists restrained behind your back in tight zip-ties. Your knees ache from the cold, hard ground, but your chin remains raised defiantly.

"Damn you." You hiss, refusing to buckle under his gaze.

Graves' expression hardens, his lips curling into a smirk. "Shut that pretty little mouth before I do it for you, Dolly." He snaps, all humor gone from his voice. He leans down, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your head up so you're looking directly into his eyes.

"Where the hell is MacTavish?" He demands, his voice a low, threatening growl. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your face, causing you to wince. Even now, his touch feels electrifying, sending unwanted sparks of heat through your body.