And heat. Pure, unadulterated heat.
Asad.
I inhale a low, deep breath and open my eyes, meeting Perla’s wide gaze. The instinctual urge to tell Asad where he and his family can go by way of that fucking car burns my tongue. But the anxiety and fear saturating Perla’s expression bank the irritated words.
I get it… I do. My stepbrother is evil incarnate. And honestly that’s an insult to Satan, who’s probably sitting on his throne of lies right now, saying, “Bitch, don’t do me like that.” And having those gunmetal-gray eyes fixed on you would have anyone with half the sense God gave a gnat silently reciting the Lord’s Prayer. So no, I don’t blame Perla, and since I care for her—and she’s one of the few people in this world who cares for me—I step in the line of fire for her.
Because apparently me and that gnat are congenital twins.
“A-are y-you sure, Em?” Perla stutters, still having my back even though her fear permeates the air like the dark earth they’re about to lower my father into. She even releases a small whimper when Asad switches his narrowed focus to her.
My heart pinches at the courage Perla displays on my behalf, as misplaced as it is.
Hell nodances on my tongue. I drove myself here since I wasn’t invited to ride in the family limo. Since I wasn’t considered good enough, important enough, to join them. Keep thatsame fucking energy. Not that I would’ve consented to joining Michelle, Asad, and Kareem anyway. That would’ve been like volunteering to ride shotgun with a cackle of hyenas. Still…
“Yes, I’m good,” I assure her, not removing my stare from my stepbrother. Only a fool diverts their attention from the biggest threat in the room. A fool who’s not particularly fond of their throat. It takes everything in me not to snatch my attention or arm away from him. From his touch that burns through my clothes, straight through to my skin and beneath like a fiery brand. I detest that his implacable grip makes me feel both trapped… and grounded. Shit. “You can go ahead. I’ll see you at the repast.”
“Okay.” I drag my gaze away from Asad and glance at Perla in time to not miss her soft sigh of relief or the softening of her expression. With a final nod, she hightails it away from us.
A few people still linger, gathered in small clumps, voices never rising above a level that’s respectful of the dead. Like they give a fuck. Seems to me, they’d probably enjoy the noise. Liven up this place some. Must be boring as fuck being, well… dead.
Most of the press has dissipated, with a few sticking around like barnacles, hungry for that last shot. Several reporters trail after Michelle and Kareem as they make their way across the cemetery toward the main road and line of vehicles idling there.
“Give your last respects to your father, and let’s go,” Asad orders, and in spite of the nerves tripping over themselves in my belly, I arch an eyebrow at him.
Another thing only a fool does—show fear. Like most predators, Asad would smell that shit and go in for the kill.
I should know.
In the thirteen years he’s been in my life, I’ve died a thousand times.
“Thank you for the offer of a lift, but no thank you,” I say, voice even, void of the hate swarming inside my chest, saturating my bones.Nowhe wants me to be included with the “family”? Why the switch up? Because that better-late-than-never bullshitis a bone thrown to desperate losers. So why—nope. Don’t care. I don’t want any part of it. Besides, anything that comes from Asad cannot bode well for me. “I planned on staying here until they finish burying Marcus.”
He cocks his head, studying me like I’m one of the worms that will eventually crawl into the coffin with my father and make him food.Don’t you fidget, bitch, I silently hiss to myself. Yes, that intense, scalpel-sharp gaze might send a flood of anxiety and heat rushing through me, but damn if he knows.
Anxiety, because Asad Prince can be called many things—brilliant, ruthless, lethal, sociopath—but predictable isn’t one of them. He’s capable of anything.
Heat, because looking at this man is like staring into the face of the sun. Blinding, painful if you do it for too long. It scorches.
His beauty is a Venus flytrap. He uses it to lure a person in, and before they’re aware of the real danger they’re in, it’s too late. They’re eaten alive.
“That could take hours,” he finally says.
I shrug a shoulder, finally… finally tearing my gaze from him and looking over at the glossy black coffin and flowers gathered on top and nearly spilling over the sides like a waterfall of color.
“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” Glancing back at him, I smile.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and I clench my fingers around my black Hermès clutch. Anything to prevent me from lifting my fingers to my lips and scrubbing away my plum lipstick along with the unnerving, phantom touch of his eyes. An electrified current crackles across my skin, jumping down my spine and wrapping around my waist. His fingers, still gripping my arm, singe through skin to bone beneath. Marking me. Igniting something hated, something… dark and needy underneath.
Once more, I shift my attention to the casket. I have no problem admitting this time it’s from cowardice. Or self-preservation.
That same sense of desperate self-defense urges me to pull away from him, free myself. Insert as much distance as possiblebetween us because that grasping, electric pulse surging through me is as dangerous as the monster before me.
“What the fuck for?” Asad demands, impatience humming in that dark, roughened-silk voice.
“Because.” I force my lips to curl higher, and I wonder if the smile appears as ugly as it feels. As hungry as the rage and grief churning and mating inside me. “One man managed to rise from the dead. I want to make sure Marcus doesn’t make it two for two.”
If my callous explanation surprised him, he doesn’t betray it. Yet his silence hangs over us like a condemnation. Like I give a fuck. He doesn’t know what it feels like to be ignored, neglected, and deemed unworthy. Not the great Asad Prince. Marcus treated him more like his child than he ever did me.