A cozy castle.
He sprints up the staircase, enters his room, shuts us inside, and drops me on the king-size bed, immediately crawling over me.
God, he’s all-consuming. Even with him fully clothed, I know what lies in store. Long, tatted limbs. Rigid, chiseled chest and torso. Wintry eyes that see more than I want them to.
He lifts my legs one at a time, shucking my boots and socks with a tender peck on each of my ankles before hovering above me and ripping off my wig and mask. “There she is. What makes you angry, Tess?”
He ogles me with so much adoration that it burrows into my depths, coaxing me to let him soothe the jagged edges of loneliness I try so hard to ignore.
“Fake pockets, having so many damn passwords, filling out endless medical forms that doctors don’t even read, Uber drivers who sing, and driving behind busses.” My voice wanes in strength on the last one because I fear he spots my fragility, so I tack on, “To name a few.”
A smile blasts across his tragically gorgeous face as he slants his head, studying me in the apricot glow of the late afternoon sunlight. “That’s what you were thinking about when I was kissing you?” He meets that challenge by sailing his mouth up the column of my throat to my jaw and that sensitive spot behind my ear. “How fake pockets piss you off?”
Honestly, they should be labeled as a crime. It’s a subtle slight from the patriarchy. Half of what they claim they’re granting women is a goddamn illusion. Those sewn flaps are a sadistic form of heckling.
I’m not sure we should deep-dive into that right now though, so I settle on, “Yeah,” bobbing my head emphatically to sell itbefore I graduate to something that really will piss me off. I need the fury fueling me. “And you. Give me the name of the guy I …”
“Okay.” His face sobers with a sigh. “Niko Makarov.”
My stomach churns. Why did I ask? I had a hunch that might be the case. I’d put the pieces together after that fucked-up blow-job call, but hearing it confirmed is sickening. The Makarovs will kill me and my whole family. Slowly.
How the hell is this my life? I’m not only a murderer; I unwittingly elevated myself to being public enemy number one for one of the most ruthless Mafias in the world. I’m going to vomit.
My eyes close on a craggy breath, one that nearly emits a whimper.
Maddox skims his knuckles down my cheek, so tender that goose bumps sprout all the way down to my toes. “Don’t do that. I told you I was taking care of it.”
When my eyelids pop open, I’ve harnessed the ire required to survive this—the knowledge of who I crossed and the man who is sending me signals that turn everything upside down. “When did you find out it was him?”
“I knew that night.” He states it so plainly, which makes sense.
He already admitted to hiding it because he didn’t want me to be scared. And I would’ve been terrified. He gifted me more than two years of semi-peaceful ignorance and worked behind the scenes to keep me safe, all while I hated him.
But if I grab ahold of that altruistic gesture, I’ll crumble. I can’t bear for him to see me break.
“You knew, and you hid it.” There’s not nearly as much bite to that as I’d like because a part of me is desperate to curl into him.
My head is so messed up.
“Hit me,” he demands with a demented grin.
“What?”
“Fucking hit me.” He lifts his palm in demonstration. “Open hand. No fist. I have a pretty face. But you need to unload. You’ll feel better if you rage, and I fucked up a lot today.”
How does he understand me so well? That in itself is irksome. All day, he’s been turning this into something it can’t be.
“Remember when I was half naked in your parents’ backyard today, tossing water bal—”
Crack.
My flat palm smacks into his scruffy cheek without my mind’s full consent, though I’m not mad about it. His head sways from the force, thethwackresonates throughout his room, and a comforting burn eats into my hand. That small slice of power shoots through me.
I’m sick.
“That’s my sexy Nightmare,” he pants as he rubs the spot, lust pouring off him with the accolade.
We stay suspended here—him massaging his face, me studying the depths of those mysterious gray pools. Our hushed breaths pant in unison. Whispers of the volcanic energy zipping between us.
