Echoes (Dance With My Demons, #2)

by Steph Macca

"I'm serious, Deadman. Five minutes and I'm out of here. I don't care. I'll paint the hallways red and string Christmas lights up made of intestines."

"Had to bring your lapdog with you?" he snarls. "Scary dog privilege," Damon corrects casually.

Now that I know she's in the same building as me again, the tether between us pulls. And I'm going to take that tether and wrap it around her soft body—whether that's to fuck her or kill her, I don't know yet.

Do you like yourself?" I still. "I've never liked myself. Everyone I've ever crossed paths with made sure to remind me of how little I mean."

She tastes like Heaven. My fallen angel. If God exists, he must be sick. Who would send a divine creature like her into the Devil's lair? And now she's stuck with me.

If anyone lays a single finger on her, bruising her perfect skin, I'll soak them in gasoline and make a bonfire.

I want to fuck her so hard that it hurts. I want to slam into her with such force that we defy the laws of physics and become one person. It seems fitting anyway, since she already has my heart. She might as well take my body and soul too. At least then I'd find some type of peace. Sure, it would probably be hell too, but if she sends me there, I would have a nice family reunion no doubt.

He moves so quickly, so stealthily, that by the time I've processed it, I'm already on my back. Grey leans over the top of me, face inches away from mine. "I can't watch you be with someone else, little killer. It makes me want to kill him."

"You'd kill for Damon," I point out confidently. He nods. "Yes, but that's because of the bigger picture. I'd kill just to make you smile."

Lifting the blade to his mouth, he runs his tongue over the metal without breaking our locked eyes.

She looks fucking perfect. It makes me want to rip her into tiny pieces just so I can put her back together again.

"Who. Do. You. Belong. To?" I ask her between thrusts. "You," she breathes out. "You, Grey." "Damn fucking right,"

"You tear me apart from the inside out in the best fucking ways possible. You make me kill for you, you make me want to die for you. I'll burn this whole place down to ashes and paint you with them like the muse you are."

Some might say I'm a masochist. And I guess they would be correct.

I look at Grey in panic, expecting him to explode, but he just nods at me. "Feel that, little killer? It should be familiar. You've taken that dick before."

"Look. At. Me," Grey says darkly. "I want you to watch me as he takes you."

"You're still mine," Grey growls into my mouth. "Every single part of you." "I'm yours," I reply. "And you're mine too." He nods, resting his forehead against mine. "When you go to heaven one day, I'll drag you back down to hell to join me. Because I'm never leaving you, Avery."

"Promise?" "Promise. Now, I want you to explode on your other boyfriend's cock while looking at me."

"You're possessive too," I shoot back. "Leaving fingers on my bed." He shrugs. "I gave you a flower. Girls like that shit." "Oh, that's the part you are focusing on," I scold playfully. "Here's the finger of your enemy… it's in a rose though."

"I thought you said you had killed a man—singular," she points out. Laughing, I shoot her an incredulous look. "I did. Then another."

"I hate it here," I admit to her. "Well, I used to. Until you came along. Now it's my favorite place." "Your favorite place is an asylum?" she mutters in amusement. "You must be as fucked up as I am." "Worse," I reply with a smirk. "I'm so much worse, baby."

I throw my hands up in exasperation, sliding back against the wall. "I can't keep up with you guys." "No one can," Grey laughs, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "And you should be thankful I have the stamina of a fucking God."

"I borrowed a staff card and got the access code." "Borrowed?" "Bribed." "Try again, Theo." He laughs. "Threatened."

"Maybe you can join us." My neck lets out a small crack as I whip my head to the side, eyes-wide at Grey. "What?" He grins at me, lowering his voice. "What's wrong, little killer? Scared of the two big bad men?"

"Take her slowly," Grey says to him. "I want to feel her writhe against me."

"I have mental illness. I'm not mental illness. I'm worth more than what you paint me as psychologically."

"We couldn't see anything. I was then distracted. I would prepare for some fallout in the morning." I rub my forehead. "Grey… is there a dead body in his office?" "Yes," he replies coolly. "And his desk will need replacing. He won't be pleased." "When is he ever?"

"I think the truth is you kept it to yourself because you thought you deserved it—so you accepted it." For once, he's not completely far from the truth.