Under Your Scars (Under Your Scars, #1)

by Ariel N. Anderson

I, Christian Thomas Reeves, being of unsound mind and a broken spirit, declare this my last will and testament, as well as a goodbye.

Damn ok

I tense up when I hear him turn on my kitchen sink, and a moment later, he rubs a warm rag over my cheeks and lips. The action is so tender that my eyes fly open in confusion. He’s standing in front of me with one of my dish towels in his hand. He’s wiping the blood off my face.

We love a murderous gentleman

“Sit,” he commands, and the last thing I want to do is get on Christian’s bad side, so I take a seat in the chair next to him again. He leans over and hands me the pocket watch, opening it for me and wrapping my fingers securely around it. It’s heavy. It must be solid gold. “Elena, every time the small hand passes the twelve, tell me.”

Oh shit

“Until next time, Elena.” Oh yeah, I’m definitely going to imagine him saying my name like that with my vibrator against my clit tonight.

Dont blame you

“It means that I’m going to make you want me as bad as I want you. I’m going to make you fantasize about how it feels to have my fingers in your greedy little cunt. I’m going to make you beg for my tongue against your clit. I’m going to make you so wet and needy for me that you’ll do anything to get me to relieve that hot, achy feeling inside you. Once you admit you want me, that’s when I’ll show my appreciation. With every part of me. On every part of you.”

Jesus

“It’s in case you ever need help,” he explains. I lift the chain to examine it. “The charm attached is a silent panic alarm. You turn it on by clicking it five times. You’ll feel it vibrate, and it will send me an alert with your exact location. If you press it, I’ll come. No matter what.”

Fancy

“I don’t want to kill you, angel. I want to keep you all to myself. You’d better take off those rose-colored glasses and accept that the only place you belong is in my black heart.”

Yum

I let out a dark laugh and make my steps even slower. The man keeps spewing miniscule threats as I get closer, and he finally shoots me. The bullet lands dead over my heart, crumples against my chest, and falls with a clink to the floor.

Hes batman

my six-five stature,

Check it off the book boyfriend list

Eight. I’ve given him eight souls since September sixth. It should have only been one. It should have only been me.

...who

“Mr. Reeves thinks you’re pretty too, ‘cause he won’t stop looking at you.”

Cute when do we find out hes thr silencer