“They got what they deserved,” I interrupt.
It was supposed to be a question, but it didn’t come out that way. Because I already know the answer.
I don’t know why he killed Jose and Diego, but based on what I overheard him saying before he pummeled Jose’s face into nothing, and the overall vibe I’m getting, I’m confident this was one of thoserevenge killingsI’m so very familiar with.
“More or less,” he rumbles, a reverberation I can feel with how close we are.
It gives me more chills, as does the glint I spot on that last word… From the stud in his tongue.
Jesus fucking Christ…
“Dead is pretty definitive, Jonathan,” I croon, gruffly and distressed over it. Though not quite enough to stop myself from taunting him for more. “Are you saying, if you could, you would kill them again…?”
My eyes lift to his as my thumbs slide, tenderly, over his knuckles and down his fingers, the blood of his victims becoming nothing more than pink water swirling down the sink’s drain.
The answer to my question is living in those irises. It’s familiar…
I saw it once before… A long time ago.
A similar mass of fear and fury, and need.
“Over and over again,” he breathes.
My breathing shallows.
You, my pet, are sheer debased perfection.
“Why are you here?” He asks me softly. I’m focusing on washing his hands, but this time when I look up, his blue eyes are scanning my face.
“Those men you killed… They work for me.Worked, lo siento.” I can’t help the small chuckle that flutters in the back of my throat.
He looks like he has so many things he wants to say, so many questions he wants to ask. I like it… The mystery, on both sides.
He’s a tantalizing character, thisJohn Chevelle.
I think he will make anexceptionalguard dog.
“You’re not… mad?” He sounds skeptical.
It makes me want to laugh, which is such a bizarre reaction. As are all of these other reactions I’m having to him, and his presence.
I’ve known for quite some time that I’m unfulfilled. Deep down, in the hollow cavity of my chest, I always have been.
In my bones, Iachefor more than I’ve ever gotten.
“Maybe a little,” I purr, meeting his turbulent gaze once more. “But I’m sure you can make it up to me.”
He squirms beside me, with our arms touching and my hands caressing his. Warm flesh, dewy from the water, and the heat of blazing awareness. The way I’m focusing on it, and the things I’m thinking, are entirely unprofessional. But I can’t seem to help it.
Turning off the water, I face him. “I didn’t come searching for you, Jonathan… In fact, you’re an unexpected gift. But one I need desperately.”
Releasing his hands with a slow sweep of his slippery skin between mine causes a significant jerk below my waist. I could groan…But I won’t.
I pick up his brass knuckles, thick shiny metal gleaming in the low fluorescent light overhead.
I think he senses what I’m thinking, because he straightens his fingers. Eagerly, I watch them pushing through the holes as I slide them on, fitting the weapon to his large hand.
Without even realizing it, I’m petting him.
