The ropes bit into your wrists, rough against your skin as Two yanked them tighter. Her grip was iron, her calloused fingers brushing against your pulse. You squirmed, but she shoved you back against the cold concrete wall, her body pressing close to keep you still.

“Stop squirming,” Two muttered, voice low and sharp. Her breath brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You lost. Deal with it.”

Her hands moved with practiced ease, tugging the knots into place. Each pull made the ropes dig in more, but what made your heart race was the way her fingers lingered — a brush against your waist, a slow drag down your thigh as she checked the bindings.

Her gaze met yours, dark and unreadable. She leaned in, her lips barely ghosting over your ear.