It had been easy enough.
Finding those secret books of hers while she slept in her bed had been far too easy. It almost made me—itdidmake me fucking angry knowing that anyone could sneak into her house while she slept and she wouldn’t stir, but that would soon change with what she was attempting to do behind my fucking back.
Even so, it was nearing midnight, and I hadn’t stopped reading these secret works of hers since I got back nearly two full days ago.
Her sicktwistedlittle mind had my cock hard since the second I opened them. I had lost count of how many times I had cum to her words.Thesewords.
I couldn’t stop.
It was like a fucking addiction.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think she grew up in this world,myworld. A world so dark and decrepit, nobody could survive. She had written, in graphic detail things that even Azrael would be so goddamn proud of, and that only made me angrier.
I didn’t want him anywhere near her. I didn’t want him finding out that she might like the things he did. That she might be willing to be pushed. Even the thought of her begging him like she begged me was enough to send me into a spiral.
Azrael couldneverknow.
The door finally opened, pulling my eyes up. I was reading in my chair in my room by way of a single lamp lighting up this portion of the room, a glass of scotch sitting on my side table.
Evelyn stopped a few yards away and frowned at the sight. “You know, if I were anyone else in The Family, I would think you were falling for this girl just like Jack and Grey.”
I sneered, slamming the notebook shut and exchanging it for my scotch. Grey. Nobody ever called him that until Emily came around, it was fucking irritating. “I’m studying her.”
“You’ve been fucking your hand for the last two days to her mind,” she argued, gesturing to the three other notebooks that I had dropped to the ground after finishing them. “You haven’t left the room. It’s fucking disgusting listening to you fuck your hand over and over and over again, and usually I love the sounds of sex, but this is just pathetic and it’s throwing me off my game.”
I shoved myself to a stand, wearing nothing but my unbuckled pants from the day before. “Then fucking, leave, Evelyn,” I growled, walking over to my scotch bar across the room. I should have just gone back to my place, but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t bare seeing the evidence of her everywhere in that place. Her cum, strands of her hair, her drool, her blood, the clothes she left,her scent. It was everywhere. I needed someone to go back there and clean it up, butfuck, I had become so distracted by these books, I had forgotten.
“Or,” she went on, crossing her arms over her chest, “you could, I don’t know, go to your own goddamn apartment rather than holing yourself out in thesharedapartment.”
I topped off my glass, my mind still simmering on the last graphic scene I had read. A scene from the woman’s perspective where she was torn between liking the fact that she was being raped by this serial killer and being terrified that she was being raped.
He had strung her up with rope to a tree in the middle of the woods, hanging her above the gravesites of his other victims, women with brown hair and brown eyes, just like her. The rope had been digging into her wrists, pulling at her shoulders, her feet mere inches from the ground, while he stood before her with a broken glass bottle in his hand, and a mask made from an old flour sack with twine stitched into a smile, and the eyes cut out.
Her inner dialogue was denial and need. Need and denial. Over and over again.“I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’t want this, but fuck, everything about him just made my body scream formore.”
I wondered if that’s what she thought about when I took what was owed to me. I wondered if she kept going back and forth and that’s why she acted like such a…such a…such abratsometimes.
I wondered if she craved to be punished because of those thoughts.
“Punish me,”she had pleaded.“Punish me for being a whore. Punish me for letting him touch me. Punish me for being a pathetic piece of shit who was too much of a coward to walk away. Punish me for being weak, for slapping you, for everything I’ve done wrong. Fucking punish me!”
My sore cock throbbed again. That serial killer had sliced her up, had fucked her back against that tree, splinters coating her skin, blood smearing between them as he took what he thought he was owed.
Just like me.
My hand tightened around my glass. Fuck me.“Is that what you want, little writer?”I asked, taking another drink.“You want me taking and taking andtaking.”I shuddered, thinking about how she had felt wrapped around my cock. Her tight little cunt sucking me in like I fucking belonged there. Her nails digging trenches into my skin, leaving trails of blood, as if she were so desperate for me, she couldn’t help herself.
I snarled under my breath, shaking my head. No.No!I wasn’tthem. I wasn’t a stupid, love-drunk pussy. I didn’t need her. I could find the same thing in a hundred other women. I didn’t need Olivia Rose.
“This is exactly what Beckett was talking about,” Evelyn started, walking up to me. “I don’t know what bug crawled up his ass to make him so adamant about this, but I can kind of see it now. You’re falling for her.”
I dropped my cup and had a gun pressed against her forehead before she even finished the sentence.
Her glare remained, her body as still as stone as she held my eyes. “Really?”
I bared my teeth at her, leaning in until I could smell the latest fuck she had falling off her breath. “She is a means to an end,” I said through my teeth.
