Chapter Forty
I smooth my hands down my stomach, the silk of the dress sliding against my palms. My hair is dead straight, pulled back away from my face so it falls down my back. Diamond earrings dangle from my ears and a choker style necklace adorns my throat, complimenting the deep sweetheart neckline of the dress.
“Fuck me,” Willow whistles, entering the room with two champagne glasses, “You look hot babe.”
I eye her own dress, a full black number with a tulle skirt that has a subtle glitter to it and a corset style bodice which pushes her breasts up. Her long hair is up in curls, leaving just a few strands to fall around her face. A pair of black stilettos are on her feet which she walks in expertly as she passes me a glass.
I take a sip of the bubbles, turning back to the mirror, “Are you sure it looks okay?”
I’m not sure where the sudden insecurity has comefrom, especially since I love the dress and how it looks.
“Am I sure?” She scoffs, “You’re gorgeous.”
Perching on the edge of the bed, she watches me for a minute, “So you and Malakai?” She hedges.
I haven’t told her about the mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex we’ve been having. I’m not keeping it a secret, I just… I don’t know.
Something has shifted in me, granted, I still want to make his life hell but for an entirely different reason now. If I piss him off, maybe he’ll chase me through the house again and fuck me ten ways to Sunday like he did this morning.
The last I heard his car was being taken off to be professionally cleaned though he’ll be finding glitter in his car for ages, no amount of cleaning will get it all.
I hate him less than I did a few days ago.
Which is terrifying because if I don’t hate him, then what is it? He’s a dangerous, brutal man, a man who takes choices and lives, he isn’t a man I should even consider, let alone catch feelings for.
And how far do I even let myself feel? How far does this go?
But he’s a drug I can’t get enough of, a presence I need. His hands on my body feel like they belong, his voice a soothing balm when it should be alarm bells.
He is the devil.
A monster.
So why do I want to call him mine as much as he callsme his?
I drain my glass of champagne and grab the purse I’ve chosen for the evening.
“What about us?” I play it down like my heart isn’t skipping a beat.
“How are the both of you?” She asks.
I shrug, “Fine.”
“Do you still hate him?”
“A little less than yesterday,” I admit, “You ready?”
She purses her lips but ultimately drops the conversation as a smile comes over her face, “Absolutely. I can’t wait to see the guys faces when they see us.”
I shake my head, but I have to admit I’m looking forward to it too.
She links my arm as we walk toward the stairs, hearing the guys laughing from the kitchen. So normal and every day that I pause on the stairs, listening to the rich sound.
“You good?” Willow asks.
But of course, Willow doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know who these men actually are, doesn’t realize we’re about to join a room full of killers.
“I’m good,” I give her a tight smile, “Let’s go.”
