I shower and wash the blood off the best I can in the room designated to me in this giant house, watching the red tinged water swirl down the drain beneath my feet. And while my skin is now clean, the crusty rust colored stain removed, it still remains beneath my nails.
A constant reminder ofwho I am.
I switch off the shower and dry off, heading through to pick out an outfit from the assortment of spare clothes I leave here and while I do it, I can hear Willow and Olivia laughing. They’re a hall over but those girls are loud, not that I mind it much. It’s nice to hear.
This house, for a long time, was stagnant until Malakai wed Olivia. It was an arranged marriage, assumed to be loveless until it wasn’t. Malakai paid the price for that though, another reminder for why I choose the lifestyle I lead.
No partner equals no weakness.
It’s bad enough I have a little sister that can be used to exploit me, and as the right hand, it has been tried before. I may not have the power Malakai has but it’s close.
In a dark underworld like ours, where we deal with criminals and assassins, nothing is a boundary. Families are targeted just as often, if not more, for what they can do to the intended target. But these are criminals in designer suits, in fancy offices and big houses with money beyond your wildest dream, expendable at their fingertips.
The Farrow’s have built an empire beneath them, a name that gives people pause, makes them afraid but it also comes with risk. People wanting in on that power, on that fortune, or people wanting revenge against them for being the reason they buried a lovedone.
My name, over the past six years, has been whispered just as many times, making me just as many enemies.
I style my hair and force out a sigh as I roll my neck back and forth. It gets harder and harder each time to revert to that man people see me as, harder to smile like they expect, to joke and laugh but just because it’s hard doesn’t make it impossible.
With a final glance at the blood still beneath my nails, I plaster a smile on my face and go join the girls.
Chapter Two
“Hey, Red,” Sebastian purrs close to my ear, “You wear this dress for me?”
His hand curls around my hip, fingers digging into the flesh a little and for a minute I let the heat of him sink in. I let that coil of lust pull tight in my core, let the scent of him, like spice and leather wrap around me and then I push it all away. It’s like a dance with me and him, but we never meet, never touch.
“Of course, baby,” I drop my voice to a sultry whisper, pushing back on him a little. I revel in the little hitch of his breath, “Who else would Iwear it for?”
We play this game so often and so well. It’s like dangling a gasoline-soaked rag in front of the fire, tempting the flame to bite without worrying how bad it could burn.
When I first met Sebastian Levine, I was fully prepared to take him home. I’m not sex shy, never have been and I know what I want. I was sure of it when I ended up in his lap, grinding all over him, feeling how hard he was for me beneath my ass. But then by the end of the night it changed, he kissed my temple, curled a red strand of my hair around his finger and told me to get some sleep.
And that was that.
But boy did weflirt.
Always.
And it was sometimes hard to draw the line, but he always did. He never pushed it too far.
It often made me wonder if there was something wrong with me, if there was something about me he didn’t like, but I never voiced those concerns. We were friends, close friends even and I refused to lose that, insecurities or not.
He chuckles low, the sound deep and rumbling, a vibration against my spine, “You’re beautiful.” He says as he takes a step back. I hide the shiver it leaves, thecold rush that threatens to make me jump back into his hold.
I turn to take a look at him. Dressed entirely in black, his muscles stretch the fabric of his clothes in the most delicious way, teasing at what’s beneath. Wide shoulders and thick arms, the sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his elbows showing off his tan forearms roped with veins. Less than twenty minutes ago the same arms and hands were stained with blood.
His smile is playful, green eyes dancing with delight, a face of a man you would never guess killed people in his spare time. Despite my attraction to him, despiteknowinghim, there is always a constant, small knot of fear in my stomach whenever I am around him.
I accept his life, the life that my best friend married into, but it would make me stupid not to fear it.
Fear, after all, keeps us alive.
His dark blond hair is styled to perfection, short on the sides, cropped almost to his skull and left longer on top. High cheek bones, and a sharp, square jaw and when he smiles just like that, dimples sink into his cheeks. There’s a light dusting of hair on his face and low set brows that sit above dark green eyes.
So ridiculously attractive you’d have to be blind not to notice.
“Look at you,” I tease, swallowing, “All cleaned up.”
