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“Alcohol?” she asked. I gave my head a shake. “Drugs?” Might’ve been easier. “Women?” Woman. Another shake, but, this time, I smiled.
I’d worked too hard to get here to ever give it up for a woman. Especially one who dressed like Britney Spears’ and Kurt Cobain’s love child.
Just the idea that I could tasted sweet, doubled the pace of my heart, made me feel hot and edgy. I hated the woman for making my life hell for years, but damn, if I didn’t want to touch her, to fuck the memory of every other man out of her mind until she was half as obsessed as I was, until she’d never forget my name again for the rest of her life.
“And when disorder comes into your life?” A vision of thick hair—sometimes dark, sometimes blond—smooth olive skin, bare feet, and everything forbidden flashed before my eyes. The fire in my chest burned hotter, stealing my goddamn breath. Where pain usually hit me like the high of a drug, whenever Gianna Russo—or, sorry, now Marino—was involved, it felt like the comedown. Nauseating. It felt fucking bitter.
I paused with one hand on the doorknob and glanced at my wrist, at the elastic tie hidden beneath my cuff. A sardonic feeling pulled in my chest. “That, Sasha, is when I obsess.”
I crossed one leg over the other, baring a generous amount of thigh. Like a warm blanket, a sense of security wrapped around me. As long as they were looking at my body, they’d never see what was behind my eyes. Nevertheless, the first place he looked as he reached my cell was straight into my eyes. Heartless. Invasive. Blue. His gaze burned, as if I was standing in front of an open freezer on a summer day, hot and cold air meeting like tendrils of vapor around me.
His dark hair was shaved short on the sides, faded with an expert hand. Broad shoulders and crisp black lines, his suit molded his toned body. Control. Precision. He exuded it, like the colorful stripes on a venomous snake. But his face was what grabbed one’s attention first. Symmetrical, and flawlessly proportioned, not even his cold expression cut from stone could mar it. The second look showed the type of body women groaned over, and the third revealed intellect in every move he made, as though everyone else was a chess piece, and he was musing over how to play each one of us.
“You’re not wearing an ill-fitting suit.” “Can’t say the same for you,” he drawled. Oh, he did not. My eyes narrowed. “This dress is McQueen, and it fits perfectly.”
The one-word demand grated on my nerves, but I’d made my bed and now I had to sit on it.
“Why am I not handcuffed?” I asked, watching two officers escort a shackled prisoner out the front doors. He tapped a finger on the counter in a rhythm of three—tap, tap, tap—and side-eyed me, his stare filling with a trace of dry amusement. “Did you want to be?” His words were laced with deep insinuation and intimacy, and I suddenly knew two things: He was an asshole, and he had handcuffed a woman in bed.
I glanced at my ring mechanically, and, for some silly reason, felt miffed that he held no concern his prisoner wasn’t restrained. I could totally be a threat to him and the public.
“See, that is the problem with you feds. You love to throw your authority around.” “Weight,” he corrected dryly. “What?” “The saying is to throw your weight around.”
“Put your coat on,” he ordered. I paused to grit my teeth because I already had one arm in the sleeve. He grabbed my sequin crossbody handbag from the counter and eyed the faux peacock feathers like they might carry malaria. I’d made the purse myself, and it was beautiful. I snatched it from his grasp, slipped it on, and headed to the front door.
“You want to give an opioid-addicted prostitute”—she tilted the shoe to look inside—“Jimmy Choos?” I brightened. “Yes, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure thing.” “Great,” I exclaimed. “Thank you!”
Either he’d just killed a man and was trying to cover his tracks, or the fed had some OCD tendencies. I always was a bit too curious. I crushed the wrapper in my hand and moved to drop it in his cup holder. The gaze he shot me was deadly.
“If you dressed a little less like a hooker, the cop who pulled you over might not have searched you.” I pulled the bubblegum off my finger with my teeth and gave him a smile. “If you looked a little less like an anal-retentive asshole, you might get laid every once in a while.” The corner of his lips tipped up. “Glad to hear there’s some hope for me.”
“Tell me, Agent Allister, when did you realize you weren’t human?” The subtle glow of amusement lit in his eyes. “The day I was born, sweetheart.”
I pulled the check I’d written out of my bra and handed it to her. She held onto a corner gingerly, until she unfolded it and looked at the amount.
When I only stared at it, she pressed, “Donor information and a tax receipt.” Her voice lowered. “You can claim this on your taxes.” “Oh, I don’t pay taxes.” She blinked. Allister grabbed the clipboard. “She’ll fill it out.”
“What did you do to your hair?” “What?” My lips formed a pout. “You don’t like it? I did it for you. I heard you like blondes.” “You been thinking about me?” he drawled. “Every day, every hour. You’re always there, like a fungus, or an incessant bug swarming around my head.”
“Okay, well, you have a decent night. I would say great, but I’m doing this new thing and trying not to say what I don’t mean.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said, taking a large drink of what I was now sure was water. “I would say poor girl, but . . .” My eyes sparkled with that new thing I’m trying as I began to walk past him.
His gaze narrowed in distaste as it fell to the pen I’d bitten between my teeth. It took only a second to connect the dots. Germs, most likely. I licked the end of the pen like a lollipop, tucked it into his front jacket pocket, and gave his chest a pat. “Have a lousy night, Allister.” Taking a step to leave, I realized how parched his stare had made me. I stepped backward, grabbed the glass from his hand, and downed the contents. I choked. Vodka.
Sometimes, it felt like a scream was trapped in my throat, one that had been struggling to get free for the past twenty-two years. It had a voice, a body, fiery red hair, and a heart of steel. I was terrified she would escape, that her echo would burn this world to the ground and leave me standing alone, in smoke and ash.
The night was cold and dark, but instead of rubbing my arms for warmth, I let the icy breeze bite into my skin. Maybe I was a masochist, or maybe pain was one of the only things that made me feel alive.
A different part of me, one quiet but strong, wanted to shout, to scream, to let her rule with a steel heart and red hair.
“Do you want to know my favorite?” My grip tightened on the railing. In. Out. “Andromeda.” Allister moved closer.
With no fight in me, I complied and tilted my head. Tears blurred my vision. Stars swam together and sparkled like diamonds. I was glad they weren’t. Humans would find a way to pluck them from the sky.
“She was sacrificed for her beauty, tied to a rock by the sea.” I imagined her, a red-haired goddess with a heart of steel chained to a rock. The question bubbled up from the depths of me. “Did she survive?” His gaze fell to me. Down the tear tracks to the blood on my bottom lip. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened, and he looked away. “She did.” I found the star again. Andromeda. “Ask me what her name means.” It was another rough demand, and I had the urge to refuse. To tell him to stop bossing me around. However, I wanted to know—I suddenly needed to. But he was already walking away, toward
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I grasped the railing and looked to the sky. My breath came out steady. The knot in my chest loosened. The tremor in my veins became the hot buzz of an electric line. And then I did it for everyone who couldn’t. I did it for every bruise. Every scar. Every slap against my face. Most of all, I did it because I wanted to. I screamed.
“You have such a handsome face. Does it get you everything you want?” “Almost.”
My gaze filled with mischief when I slipped my thin dress strap off my shoulder. “And you never are. Don’t you ever live on the edge, Officer? Just let yourself have whatever you want?” The air pulsed like it had a heartbeat as I pushed the shimmery material over my hips, letting my gown fall to my feet. Chink. He didn’t look away from my face, though the urge was there. Shifting like a breeze heading in the wrong direction. I stood inches in front of him, in a red bra and panties, with an entire party and my husband just beyond a set of double doors. His response was simple and exactly what
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My face had been a curse when I was a kid, but now, I took advantage of it. To intimidate, to manipulate, to get whatever I wanted. Power. Information. Women. Ironic, that the one thing I now wanted, I couldn’t fucking have.
Plainly, and as bland as stale bread, I said, “The way I feel about you, well, it’s put me in a small spot.” “Tight spot,” he corrected softly.
“I hate you.” “I think about you.” Those four rough words filled the air between us, settling to the floor with a stillness that rocked me to my core. My blood cooled as silence came out to touch me with cold fingers. I stared, eyes wide. He watched my expression, bitter amusement passing through his gaze. “There’s your fucking secret.”
“You want to know why I don’t touch you?” I shook my head. “Because if I did, I wouldn’t stop. Not until I’d snuffed out that pretty fire in your eyes.” His gaze flashed. “Don’t shut yourself in a room with me again, Gianna.”
Some called it depression. I called it life.
“You heard me, Gianna.” I’d heard him, all right. Didn’t mean I’d listen.
Allister wasn’t going to win this game. In the end, however, he won. He won everything.
He looked up. His eyes were cold enough to give me frostbite. “No,” I breathed. But it was too late. He pushed the door open, and his lazy, heartless gaze found Charming. A muffled pop hit my ears. Blood splattered across the counter and cupboards. White powder dusted into the air as Charming hit the floor, cloudy blue eyes wide open, a bullet hole in his forehead.
Christians level of pettiness is what i live for
“I’m going to kill him,” I admitted calmly. “You’re going to tell him thank you, and then shut your damn mouth.” “I’d rather throw myself from my balcony.” “If you fuck my relationship with Allister, Gianna . . .” I frowned. “What do you mean? I thought he was just one of your men?” He laughed. “He’s his own man. It took my father a long time to convince him to work with us, and if you’ve fucked it up I’m gonna strangle the shit out of you.” Oh. No wonder Allister always looked at me like I was simple-minded when I’d talk to him like he was the help.
Darkness loved him—I knew without a doubt they were on good terms.
His gaze met mine. Blue. Cool silk sheets beneath a darkening sky. Although, there was something else. A flicker of something bright and full of life. Like the reflection in a neurotic person’s eyes. It was madness. It was obsession.
So, this was what it felt like to be touched by him . . . Addictive.
I wasn’t like any of the women I’d seen him with. He preferred classy, composed, and docile. I was the opposite. He wanted me, and he hated it.
I was his own little game. If he touched me, he’d lose. I suddenly knew, this was a game I wanted to play with everything in me.
I never had preferred large men . . . but, God, I wanted a taste of this one.
I suddenly wanted to know how this man fucked—if his OCD tendencies came to the bedroom, or if it made him even dirtier.
“What about me, Officer? Would you kill me?” I held my breath as he stepped forward, lightly grasping my throat. “It would make my life a lot easier,” he drawled, caressing my fluttering pulse with a thumb before pressing down on it slightly.
“I’m not one of your admirers. I’m not going to hold my dick and pine over you, just waiting for the day you might choose me. If I fuck you, Gianna, nobody else ever will.”
