“It’s about time you woke up,” he says almost playfully. I can’t tell if it’s his accent that makes him sound more jovial than he really is, or if he just enjoys toying with me.
My brows pull together as I try to sit up again. He lays his arm across my stomach, firmly keeping me in place. I let out a breath. “I thought you were going to kill me,” I say sardonically, even though I know I’m playing with fire. I force my eyes away from him and toward the door. It’s pitch-black beneath it. The cell is dark too, only lit with pale moonlight from the bars far above us.
I must’ve been asleep for a while.
Cameron hums in thought, the sound somewhere between a growl and an exhale. It’s deep and draws my eyes to his tattooed throat, where a sea of black misty trees rings the entirety of his neck. He’s what I imagine chaos would look like, and I’ve never pictured anyone to look that way besides myself.
Mom always hated the way I wore my hair in messy, loose braids. She didn’t like that all my clothes were black either.“You look like an assassin,”she would tell me constantly, but I was one. She knew that. Even if she hated the family’s line of work, she allowed it.“Chaos”she’d called me when I’d leave the housewearing my long pink braids, combat boots, and vest. Off to kill another one of Greg’s marked targets.
I’m a reflection of what I see before me—something wicked and unfairly damaged.Chaos.I think of the word fondly as I entertain the mischief in his eyes.
“I’m going to try as hard as I can to save you for later. It’s a promise, I’m afraid. I’m not exactly in control of when I’ll kill you, but it’s inevitable,” he states matter-of-factly before releasing me and rolling onto his back, his gaze set on the tall ceiling.
“What a cruel thing to promise.” My voice is unamused. I don’t waste the moment; I move on top of his chest and press the balls of my thumbs into the crux of his neck. My hair spills over my shoulders and falls to his collarbone.Did he untie my braids?The thought sends a shiver up my spine. A chuckle gurgles from his throat, and to my utter dismay, he fucking smiles.
“You’d be doing me a favor, love,” he rasps, sucking in a short breath when I add pressure. The sound of his strained words makes my body warm. His Adam’s apple rolls beneath my palms as he swallows, and the sensation of it draws chills across my arms. His dick swells under my ass.
My expression shifts into amusement.Jesus, he really does enjoy the idea of dying.
I look at his mouth, blood still trickles from his lips, and some smears on my hand.
My eyes narrow at him. I can tell by his nefarious smile that he knows I don’t actually want to kill him. It’s not my favorite thing to do, although I’ve grown to enjoy the way I create something thought-provoking in the aftermath of death. Leaving the police running circles also makes it a bit entertaining, crumbs for them to find me. But it’s not like I had grudges against the victims. I was just doing my job.
The manila folder that General Nolan flipped through on the train flashes through my mind along with the ten people in body bags inside it.
My fingers loosen and I blow out a breath. All I’m doing is giving him a fucking boner. He’s not afraid of me. I wish I could say the same. I release him, standing up and moving to the sink to wash his blood from my hands.
“So cute. Your hands can’t even wrap around my entire neck,” he chimes as he sits up and massages his throat with a blank expression, almost like he’s searching for something there. I roll my eyes and dry my hands on my pants.
As uncomfortable as it is, I’d rather sit up against the wall than be anywhere near him. He watches as I firmly plant myself at the other end of the room.
“You can take the bed. I don’t sleep much.” He stands and shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket.
“I’d rather not sleep where you have,” I snipe, turning my head away from him.
“Oh,pettyare we?” he shoots back, winking at me. My cheeks burn. He knows exactly what he’s doing by teasing me. I rise to my feet as he circles the cell toward me. “Either you sleep in the bed, or I’ll just keep fucking with you all night,” he states nonchalantly as he lifts a shoulder and drops it.
I’m finding it hard to believe this guy is capable of killing anything. I’d have to see it to believe it at this point.
“Okay, fine, just stay away from me.” I sit on the edge of his bed and he keeps to his word, stopping across the room and letting his body slump to the ground.
As I watch him, I notice his mouth is still heavily bleeding. He keeps licking his lips and swallowing.
I’m no saint, but I don’t like the idea of him bleeding for so long. After a few minutes, I relent and grab some paper towelsfrom the sink. He watches me curiously as I lower to my knees between his sprawled-out legs and sit on my haunches.
“Open,” I order.
Cameron lifts a brow but opens his mouth obediently. I locate the source quickly and shove the balled-up paper towels into his mouth. He grunts and gives me a bewildered look. He actually manages to keep his palms against the ground.
“Is there a medical kit in here? You need staples.”
He nods, and I follow his eyes to the mirror above the sink. I find a supply box in the cabinet and rummage through it until I find some. These should work fine.
Cameron watches me prep the clawlike staples with a calm demeanor. Clearly, he’s no stranger to pain.
“Does it hurt?” I ask as I slowly pull the blood-drenched paper towels from his mouth. He shakes his head and sits motionlessly as I place three staples on the inside of his cheek. They pinch together and should allow the cut to heal relatively quickly.
“There.” I stroke my thumb gently on the outside of his cheek. Then I realize what I’m doing and pull my hand away.
