I glance at him with an overwhelming sense of disgust. The thoughts running through that brain of his are so far removed from my reality, they aren’t even in the same dimension. How can he even compare my little ember to those sixteen nutcases?
“I suggest you rephrase that quickly if you want to stay alive past midnight. Your future sister-in-law has a passion for sharp knives.”
I expect him to jump with questions at my statement, but there is nothing. He doesn’t go on his rampage of interrogation like he always does whenever I mentionanyhuman being who has survived around me. He just looks, arms locked at his chest, studying me like he’s trying to decipher the meaning of all of this, almost furious.
A long time passes before he speaks again. “You want to get yourself killed? Or her?”
“They will never kill me. And she can take care of herself.”
“But the channel is still active. Are they sending letters again?”
Well, that could be true. But again, those pathetic results of my experiment have never crossed the limit in five years, I doubt they will try anything now.
“You know this kind of mess will catch up to you one day, don’t you?” My brother shakes his head, trying to babysit me just like he did when I left the program.
“That will not happen.”
“It probably won’t if you stop fucking your students. It’s not like you even care.”
That might have been true with Stupid Samantha and the ones before her, but there is no way in hell anyone gets to tell me I can’t be with my little ember. He and those twelve fuckers included.
“Just go back to your fucking toy. And stop sending me messages about how she’s sucking your dick, for God’s sake.”
“Fuckinggirlfriend.But yes. Kiss your girl for me and make sure you use the tongue.” He’s about to leave the hall when he adds the sentence that might just end his life “And mention I’m up for a little familybondingany time she wants.”
Looks like this is how I’ll lose my last living relative, killed by my own two hands. But before I can act on that idea, he turns around and leaves the room, leaving me alone once again.
The worst thing about Zachary is that he’s not dumb and what he said isn’t wrong. Those delusional fuckers will try to destroy Victoria.Trybeing the keyword, because they will die one by one before they even get to smell her scent.
The smart thing to do would be to leave her alone until I can figure it all out. That thought gets pushed to the corner of my brain just as soon as my hands start to type the message that I never thought I would ever write: inviting my little ember to a date. A fucking date that I am way too excited to partake in.
For one moment, it can be just her and I and her sweet pussy. The best incentive anyone could ask for.
As for my little army, recently, they’ve become bolder, so I can only assume they know about her, but how much? I doubt they are spying on me, Vincent would have said something. Yet they are still more active.
This is my fault. I should have dealt with them a long time ago. I was just never bothered enough. Not to mention, when I started to plan Step 3 for my Victoria, I almost announced it, searching for the most grotesque ways to torture her, right there in the open. What if they know?
These are all questions that need an answer, a solution, and probably a kill.
But first, dinner.
CHAPTER 27
VICTORIA
Ishould definitely check my head because I’m severely ill and probably dying. Otherwise, how would I explain all this?
When Azrael sent me the message last night telling me to be ready for a date, I expected nothing less than a redo of our torturing session. Afraid for my life? Yes. Excited? Even more so.
I mentally prepared myself for shit to hit the fan, and it kind of did. He took me out for dinner, made small talk, asked me all thenormalquestions, and ended the night with his hand between my legs, making me come while I was still seated in his car. And then nothing. He left me at my door like a gentleman, which might be the most disturbing part of the whole evening.
Is this what those reports from his governmental experiment meant? Step 3? Well, not fucking me must be the correct way to do it because there is nothing worse that he could have done than not fucking me after that.
Just the idea that I’ve become so weak for this man is twisting my thoughts. But instead of being repulsed by the situation, I just keep on asking for more.
Did I want him? Yes, obviously. I went after him for months like a feral cat in heat. This is just not the result I expected. I wanted him as a thing—an object of desire I could use, keep, command, and throw away like garbage. Something beautiful and dangerous I could tame. Mine to pleasure, mine to hold, mine to throw away if I ever got bored.
Now, my will bends under the weight of his attention, and my dignity is hanging by a thread. Just one word from him and I’d jump off a cliff, all while smiling because he looked at me. Which is pretty much exactly what he would expect and exploit.