Are these his fucking victims? Or are they... me, in pieces I don’t recognize yet? I can’t tell.
My hand falters as I notice tiny numbers scratched at the bottom of the pages—dates and I realize each one was drawn long before I ever set foot here.
I’m not special. He has a type and I’m just next on the list.
The awareness curdles in my gut, hot, sick and far too true. I feel the rage burning through me, that usual betrayal stirring in my veins.
“Another using bastard.” I bite out viciously through clenched teeth.
I drop the paper in my hand and yank open the draw beneath the desk. At first all I see is more drawings, until I dip my hand inside, quickly pushing everything aside until I feel something hard and cold.
I pull it free and stare down at the gun, heavy in my hand. Black and silver with red engraved swirls wrapping around the long, thick barrel.
Chapter Twelve
Wrath
After repainting my face and sliding the red, spiraling contacts back into my eyes, I jog down the stairs with a black towel slung low around my waist. Still damp from the upstairs shower, since mine is still fucked, I rake my fingers through my wet hair as I cut through the kitchen, heading for my room to get dressed.
My mind spins impatiently.
I can’t stop thinking about her and what she thought of my little gift today. What her face looked like when she saw my words, the chains. If she hated it. If she liked it. If she’s trembling even now, thinking of me. Wondering where I am and if I’m watching through the window.
I’m not patient enough to sit with the questions for long. As soon as I’m in some clothes, I’m going to her. And this time, I won’t leave anything for her to misunderstand.
As soon as I’m close to my bedroom door, I push the handle down, walking straight inside, slamming it behind me. But I stop cold, feeling something shoot through my senses. I don’t move as my eyes glide around the room until they land on my desk, the drawer hanging half open.
My eyes close, head tilting back as I inhale deeply, my chest expanding. I can fucking smell her. That suffocating sweet sting of her fear clawing at my lungs.
And she’s still in here. What a silly little thing. Wandering in the one place I can keep her and never let her go.
I spin on my heel, fists clenched at my sides, my body tense as I look around again until I lock focus on the double doors of my built in wardrobe. My eyes narrow before I take slow, calculated steps toward it, weaving through the chains like a venomous snake ready to strike.
Reaching out, I yank both doors open, revealing Aurelia standing between my clothes, her stance rigid but defiant.
She stares at me, gold eyes sharp, with my gun pointed directly at my chest. Her hands tremble slightly, but the weapon remains steady in her grasp.
My jaw tenses, chin raised in quiet disdain as my arms fall, and I take a single, lazy step back.
This is fucking typical of her—my little corpse, always wants to have the upper hand. And here she is, inmyspace, inmyfucking room, with the audacity to havemy own gun aimed at me.
The girl’s got some serious balls, I’ll give her that.
Her eyes slowly sweep down, lingering on my wet body, and I feel the twitch in my fingers. The urge to disarm her, to take her by the throat, slam her down onto my bed and show her what real fear feels like. It’s a torturous deprivation that’s coiling around my spine.
She hovers on the towel, the hesitation thick between us as she thinks about what’s beneath it for a second. But then she blinks, fast and frantic, trying to shake off her thoughts.
She reaches up, yanks a pair of my sweats from the hanger, tossing them at me and I catch them.
“Put some clothes on, circus boy.” She spits the words out like hatred, and she’s disgusted by me. Like I’m not exactly what she wants, and she’s not already tangled in my web.
I lift a brow but do what she asks, because tonight, I’m quite chill to play the power play games. I calmly tug my towel off, letting it fall to the floor and of course her eyes immediately land on my dick.
Her breathing gets heavier before she swallows hard, her gaze flicking back to mine. We stare at each other, the tension between us shifting to something far more dangerous, and I can’t hold it anymore, I step forward, but she instantly aims the gun squarely.
“Don’t!” she shouts at me, and I stop.
She struggles for breath, and I just watch her, the way she fights with everything inside her not to let me have her the way I want.