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there’s a big difference between running shit and watching shit be run.
But what makes it all even worse? The three men who caught me in my moment of fucking weakness are the leader of the Princes of Carnage and his two best friends.
Nico is taller than me by a good bit, built like someone who was raised on violence and born to lead. His dark hair is mussed up from our altercation, and a sort of savage pleasure fills me as I take in the bruise that’s blooming on his handsome face from where I hit him. His mismatched eyes—one blue and one green—glitter as he stares back at me, his gaze scanning my face. His friend and de facto bodyguard, Atlas Demaro, is the one keeping me shoved against the wall. Atlas isn’t quite as bulky as Nico, and definitely not as built as their third friend, Killian Graves. But he has a fighter’s
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“Hello, siren.”
The low, sensual growl belongs to a man I know only as Phantom,
“This is where you belong,” he says, sounding satisfied. “On your back for me, hair spread out, cheeks flushed. A perfect little slut who wants to get fucked so badly. You can run from me all you want, siren, but your body doesn’t lie. I know you’re desperate for this.”
“I can feel you trying to hold back,” he growls. “You don’t want to come for me?” He snorts. “Do you really think you have a choice about that? I can make you feel so fucking good, you’ll forget how much you hate me. You’re my wife, Quinn. What’s yours is mine, remember? Your orgasm belongs to me, and I fucking want it.”
“You shouldn’t worry about them seeing you like this,” I tell her. “Any other man? Well, now that I know how good you taste and how perfectly you fall apart, I think I’d be inclined to stab his eyes out for looking at you like this. But these two are basically my blood, closer than brothers. We don’t hold anything back from each other.”
“Sarà molto interessante essere sposati con te, mia piccola e bellissima nemica.”
All of this is bad, so wrong and so fucked up. Kissing my husband—my enemy—is like drinking from a well of poison, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Nico hits a particularly good spot inside me, rocking me forward, and my mouth opens, a name pouring out on the harsh breath that feels almost punched out of me. “Atlas…”
“Because no matter how hard I try to block you out and focus on other shit,” Atlas continues, his voice hoarse, “there you are in my head. The way you laugh. The way you fight. The way you move through the world like you were born to fucking rule it. I should have a thousand things on my mind every day, but instead, I only have one. A woman with teal hair, a vicious right hook, and a smile that could stop my fucking heart.”
“You’re not weak, siren,” I tell her. “I’ve watched you for months, and I know how strong you are.”
Killian is Phantom.
“Sometimes when darkness is thrust upon us, we come to crave it later. We want to own it, so that it can never own us.”
The words spill out of me, and I can’t even control them or make them sound less like cock drunk gibberish.
“It’s not nothing.” His voice is low and intense. “Someone grabbed you hard enough to leave a mark behind. I don’t give a fuck why they did it, they had no goddamn right. So you either tell me who it was, or I’ll kill everyone in this room just to make sure I get the point across.”
He’s dangerous… but maybe not to me. Maybe he’s just the kind of nightmare I need.
“It doesn’t matter, siren. Run anywhere you like, because no matter where you go, I’ll always catch you. I’ll always find you.”
“The Saint
Who tf is the saint?!
