And I've killed two people.
One of which made national news.
A respected leader of the community, killed in his own home by his stepdaughter.
They only found the dark secrets he paid to keep buried after months of investigating.
"Youokay?" Marcos asks me, pulling me from my thoughts as we wait for the elevator at his complex.
I look up at him, that gorgeous smirk poking out again. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Playful suspicion fills his expression, "Your heart is pounding."
"Oh," I can feel the blush filling my cheeks. And when he reaches out with a thumb to gently brush against it, the warmth deepens. "How can you tell?"
His hand gently traverses down my jawline and lower, his fingers stopping on the pulse in my neck, "This little artery is dancing furiously."
Murder and a one-night stand all at once will do that to ya, I guess.
As the elevator opens and we step inside, he presses the button to bring us to the 17th floor.
The tension in this small space is palpable the second the door closes, hot and achy like neither of us can wait until we get somewhere private to tear each other's clothes off. Marcos turns toward me, crowding me against the wall, my hands landing on the bars behind me to stabilize myself. Every inch of my body is on high alert, but he doesn't touch me yet; he just watches me carefully, like a predator tracing his prey's every move.
He places his hands just outside mine, looming over and trapping me. His cologne fills my head with desire, his dark eyes watching me hungrily, his gaze traversing my skin indecently, making me hot all over without him saying or doing anything really.
The bright fluorescent lighting illuminate his features, giving me the best glimpse of his eyes I've gotten so far, their beauty leaving me frozen in his stare.
They remind me almost of a night sky, so intensely dark brown they swallow up all the light, leaving only a few flecks of gold, like little stars, to differentiate the irises from the pupils.
This certainly isn't the first time I've gone home with someone I hardly know, but this time is infinitely different.
Even though I don't know where he's from, where his captivating accent came from, or his favorite color. Or how he takes his coffee. There's a connection here, a knowing, because we both exist in society without being a part of it. He not only sees and knows the part of me that no one else does, he craves it. That kind of intimacy is both freeing and terrifying. This man sees the monster beneath my skin and hasn't cowered in fear or turned away in disgust.
He's even alluded to being the same, a mirror image of my own madness.
And as much as I hate to admit it, that scares me more than anything else. More than the fact that he's also admittedly a murderer, more than the fact that he's going to help me destroy the evidence, and I just have to trust that he will.
This kind of intimate knowing can only end in disaster.
So we can have this one night.
And then never see each other again.
The doors silently slide open behind him, and he walks backward, taking my hand in his and pulling me towards his apartment without a word.
Sure enough, even down to the number, the address on his ID matches up, easing the last of any nerves I might have had.
As the door swings open, his hand on my lower back sends sparks of anticipation up my spine, like the door opening and him urging me inside is the signing of a deal with a demon.
The only question that remains is which of us is Faust and who is the devil.
A quiet yowl breaks me from the trance he's put me in, and my eyes dart around the dimly lit apartment in search of the fuzzy creature that made the sound.
Marcos's quiet chuckle brings my attention back to him as the door gently clicks closed behind him.
"Come here, Momo," he flicks on more lights, not completely illuminating the space but giving me just enough light to see where his cat was blending into the all-black couch.Momocomes wandering up to us, his bright green eyes staring up at me, almost sizing me up for a second before ignoring me entirely and walking between Marcos' legs, silently demanding up. When Marcos obliges, cradling the little fuzzball into his chest, my stomach starts doing terrifying little flips. His eyes meet mine as he scratches his pet's head. "Monster, meet… Natalie? Natalia? Natasha?"
A giggle slips from my mouth as I deny him my full name once again, "Just Nat."
