His cousin kicks his foot. “I’m not your dog, motherfucker.”
Killian doesn’t seem perturbed in the least. He’s probably the one who resembles me the most from that bunch of little fuckers. The only difference is that I’m culturally superior and have a more prominent penchant for anarchy.
As I’m contemplating the best way to dump his body in the ocean without permanently losing my sister, something happens that derails my whole thought process.
Mia’s eyes twinkle as her lips pull in a genuine, happy smile. It’s the wildest look I’ve ever seen on her face. And, coincidentally, they’ve all happened around her family members.
As if they’re the only ones who deserve this side of her.
“Wanted to check on you,” Nikolai says and pushes a cup in her hand. “Bought your favorite Frappuccino. Double espresso shot with caramel syrup and cream on top.”
“I, unavoidably, helped him,” Killian says.
“You did not,” Nikolai retorts.
“My presence was in itself a massive help. If I hadn’t been there, you would’ve been kicked out by the cashier, who was scared to death by your grim, unconsciously frightening presence.”
Mia signs a thanks and accepts the cup, then she leans in for a quick hug with both her brother and cousin.
A hugger. A blasphemous, absolutely distasteful habit with no practical meaning whatsoever. It’s not needed for sex and, when used, can lead to an awkward angle.
But then again, I’ve never appreciated touching people when my cock isn’t involved.
“Want to grab something to eat before we continue our stroll?” Killian asks her.
She shakes her head and signs that she has a class.
Nikolai pats her head as if she’s still a child. “Don’t make any trouble, and if you do, for all that’s unholy, tell me about it.”
“And me.” Killian points a thumb at himself. “We can turn mere trouble into a tornado.”
She signs an “Okay,” then they finally part ways.
Thankfully, Killian and Nikolai go in the opposite direction, while Mia continues toward me as she slurps her drink.
She reaches into her dress pocket and retrieves her phone, completely oblivious to the trap she’s walking right into.
I don’t make myself noticeable when she’s near. No.
I wait and bide my time for the right moment.
Once she passes me, I stand behind her and whisper, “So you do use your phone, and yet you left me on Read. Where are your manners, little muse?”
9
MIA
My carefully built illusion shatters into a million pieces all around me. The shards prick my skin with the deliberate precision of a thousand cuts.
The straw falls from my lips and I sluggishly swallow the liquid trapped in my mouth as if it’s poison.
A part of me is urging myself to run, hide, bury this episode in the tortured abyss of my soul where all fucked-up creatures reside.
And as much as I’d love to put up a brave fa?ade, I recognize how careful I need to be instead. I’ve witnessed firsthand what it looks like to be in the middle of Landon King’s orbit, and to say I didn’t survive would be the mother of all understatements.
However, I abandon the flight option.
People like Landon get off on the act of chasing more than the finality of catching. If I run, I’ll only provoke the insatiable and completely sadistic side of him.
So, against my better judgment, I gather what remains of my courage and turn around.
I’m not even fully facing him when he grabs me by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh before he shoves me against the wall.
My back hits the brick and I swallow a wince as my Frappuccino shakes and swirls, almost asking for help on my behalf.
His marble-like body presses against mine as a stark reminder of last night.
Of the terror.
The helplessness.
The strange arousal.
All of it.
He’s in an uncharacteristic hoodie today and his eyes are hidden by aviator sunglasses that give him a mysterious edge.
“I should’ve done this sooner.” He tilts his head to the side, studying the length of me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
Why is he wearing the damn sunglasses? It’s already hard to read his eyes without the added camouflage.
I search our surroundings for anyone who might be able to help, but I realize we’re in a small nook in the corner that most people don’t even notice.
Landon releases my shoulder and reaches a hand to my face. I tense, my body getting ready to fight, claw his eyes out and drink his brain through the sockets if he as much as hits me— He strokes my cheek and I freeze, all my murderous thoughts coming to a sudden halt.
My breath catches and my lips part.
That’s about the last thing I expected the psycho to do.
His long, lean fingers glide from my forehead to my brows, over my eyelashes, then swipe down the bridge of my nose. As I watch with a completely stupefied expression, his exploration continues under my eyes, over my cheeks, and down my jaw before lifting my chin.
Every stroke leaves a burning fire in its wake. No, it's an avalanche of tingles, goosebumps, and pent-up euphoria.
Like a blind person trying to discern someone’s features, he lingers and strokes gently. Too gently, even.
My thoughts scatter when he slides his fingers over my upper lip, his middle finger swiping down my Cupid’s bow, then moves to my bottom lip. This time, his thumb presses on the flesh with a breathtaking firmness.
I’m entranced, absolutely taken aback by the sight in front of me and the overwhelming feelings blazing through me.
It’s like I’ve been transported to a different dimension where everything is bizarre and the merest touch provokes an extreme reaction.
“Stunning.” His deep voice, the sound of dark lullabies, chains me further to the alien feelings.
I’m no different than a fly caught in the web of a spider, completely paralyzed as life is sucked out of my limbs.
“Five out of five,” he whispers in words that have no business being so destabilizing. “As expected of my little muse.”
He flexes his hand into an open palm and swipes it down my throat. The touch is intimately explorative and breathtakingly stimulating. His fingers latch onto the leather choker and he uses it to pull me flush against him.
I have to keep the Frappuccino to the side or he’d crush it between us.
A sly smirk lifts his sinfully gorgeous lips as he toys with the leather, his fingers skimming my skin as if he has every right to.
As if he claimed me in a different lifetime and is currently taking me back.
“I knew there was a wild side to you. Tell me. Do you fancy being strangled while a cock rams inside your soaking wet cunt? Or do you prefer having a cock choke your pretty little throat and fill it with cum?”
His crude words, delivered in the most sophisticated manner, snap me out of my drug-like haze.
And the worst realization is that another part of my body mourns the loss of that haze. There must be something freakishly wrong with me. How could I go so still when he touched me with the sensuality of a lover?
I push against him with my free hand, my face heating and my mind thinking of a thousand curses I can use to send him to the afterlife.
My attempts to free myself only manage to amuse him to no end. So I scratch at his hand, but that doesn’t erase the provocative smirk from his face.
He releases me, though he doesn’t give my space back. “My, my. You’re supposed to be a harmless tiny mouse, but you’re fast upgrading to a kitten with claws. Such a feisty little one.”
I hug the Frappuccino against my chest and sign, “I’m not little, you psycho asshole. Go fuck yourself.”
“Calling me names won’t stop me from referring to you as little. And I would rather fuck a hole instead of doing it myself.”
My lips part.
No. He couldn’t have understood every word. It’s just impossible.
This prick can’t possibly—
“Surprised I speak ASL?” He grins. “I figured it’d be better than scribbling on your phone whenever you’re about to burst with curses. Now, I understand all the curses, not just the fuck-you ones.”