I lift a shoulder and tap the spot beside me. “They look better from this angle.”
“What look better?” she asks in a spooked tone, and why the fuck am I getting harder?
“Fireflies or bodies, whatever floats first.”
“Your dark sense of humor is really on another level.” She slowly approaches, then before settling down, she hesitates.
That habit of questioning everything I offer will be gone soon.
“Don’t worry. I won’t fuck you tonight.”
“Wow. Thanks.” She flops down beside me, her fruity perfume getting stronger. Or my sense of smell is picking her up faster.
“You’re welcome.”
“That wasn’t an actual thank-you.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Sarcasm. Ever heard of it?”
“I know. I’m just messing with you.” I tuck that blonde strand behind her ear and it turns red, along with her neck.
“Do you like messing with people a lot?”
“Not all people, no. Just a select few.”
“So I’m a VIP now?”
“If you want.”
“Seriously, talking to you is like speaking to an evil robot.”
“Evil robot, huh?”
“Yeah, you know, the ones who get destroyed at the end of sci-fi films.”
“You mean the ones whose red eyes flash in the last second of the movie, signaling their return?”
“You shouldn’t be proud of being evil.”
“That’s the thing, baby. I don’t see myself as evil.”
“Please don’t tell me you see yourself as a hero.” She sounds even more spooked than earlier.
“No, I don’t. I just see myself as neutral. Instead of black, white, or gray. I’m colorless.”
“You’re an entity. You can’t be colorless.” She huffs. “You’re just black.”
“Black?”
“Yeah, I give people colors and you’re definitely black, like your soul, heart, and that disturbing head of yours.”
I stare at her for a beat and then smile. Jesus.
This girl is getting herself into big fucking trouble.
Because I want to keep talking to her.
And I don’t even like talking to people.
I want to own her, even though I have no fucking clue what owning people is all about.
It can’t be different from having pets then wanting to see inside them, right?
11
KILLIAN
“What the fuck is this? Shitting on my parade day?”
I don’t pause at Nikolai’s voice on my way inside the mansion. Instead, I reach the fridge and grab a bottle of water.
He throws the nearest object he can find at me, a Zippo, and I tilt my head to the side, letting it collide with the bottle of vodka. It shatters against the counter in a ceremony of glass and liquor.
“I’m assuming you’ll clean it up and replace my vodka,” Jeremy says from the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed.
“It’s my vodka. Fuck off.” My cousin shoves an ice pack on his swollen jaw and props his foot on the edge of the sofa.
Leaning against the counter, I cross my legs at the ankle. “Bad mood?”
“And you’re not? That loser won against you.”
I lift a shoulder. “I won something better than a meaningless match.”
Like Glyndon’s company and even a temporary truce from fighting me once she was watching those fireflies—and I wasn’t touching her.
She eventually relaxed once I forced my hand to remain still. Something that proved to be harder in practice than theory. Turning this into a habit is out of the question. After all, I only need her to get her guard down a little, let me in a little so I can figure her all out and, in retrospect, delve into the reasons behind my interest in her.
Am I ready to go the extra mile for that? Sure as fuck.
Considering the crease in her brows when I drove her back to her dorm, I’d say I still have a ways to go.
She’s a stubborn, hotheaded little shit, and I’m here for every fucking second of it.
Glyndon might be the solid, huge rock, but I’m water and water might slam into the rock at first, but it’ll eventually break through it.
“What’s better than winning, motherfucker?” Nikolai grunts. “Next time, don’t take my fight if you’re going to lose it. My image is at stake here, Satan’s heir.”
I pull out my pack of cigarettes and stare at it for a beat, remembering Glyndon’s words from earlier about poison. Then I shake my head and stuff one between my lips. “I assume you won the one after?”
“Barely,” Jeremy answers on his behalf, then heads to the minibar and pours himself a drink. “An art student nearly beat him to death first.”
“Bullshit!” Nikolai jumps up and points his ice pack at Jeremy. “I was only taking it easy on him at the beginning. And that bitch is no ordinary art student. He obviously works out.”
I raise a brow and blow out a trail of smoke. “Superhuman art student?”
“Maybe one of those comic book superheroes, huh?” Jeremy prompts. “Posh rich boy by day and vigilante by night.”
“With a mask, a cape, and a bat car.”
“Maybe a suit, too?”
“Fuck you both simultaneously.” Nikolai flops back against the sofa. “For your information, Landon was the reigning king in all the championships he participated in AND he’s the current leader of the Elites.”
Jeremy props an elbow on the counter beside me and takes a sip of his drink. “Our Niko actually knows information like that? Since when?”
“Since Gareth was whispering in my ear. And what the fuck? I know all the information.”
“That implies you’ll use violence.”
“Of fucking course. Why would I need to fill my head with other boring information?”
I tap the cigarette in the bottle of water, letting the ashes tarnish the pure liquid. “Landon?”
“Landon King,” Nikolai offers. “Creighton’s cousin, or second cousin, or what-the-fuck ever. I say if his bitch clone brother hadn’t shown up out of thin air, he would’ve kept the fight going all night long. That crazy motherfucker smiles when he’s beaten up, like you, Satan’s heir.” He kicks the table, and it tumbles down, all the glass shattering to minuscule pieces. “Let’s fight, Killer. I still have energy to purge.”
“Pass.” Not only will he go for hours on end, but I’m also in a good mood and don’t want to fight.
It’s not my preferred purging method, anyway.
“Control your temper.” Jeremy sits beside him and offers him his drink. “It’s going to get you killed one day.”
“One day isn’t today.” He swallows the contents of the glass in one go. “And it’s not temper, it’s energy, Jer. Goes all the way to my dick. I should’ve gotten laid tonight.”
“So Landon and his twin brother ruined your night?” I circle back to the topic at hand.
“Fuck those rich little boys, especially the dainty one who looked no different from a lotus flower. He shared Landon’s looks but had the aura of a weakling.”
“Not to mention, he stole your fun,” Jeremy points out and Nikolai tsks.
“Stole your fun, how?”