“Fuck, you taste good,” he says, nipping my lip one last time.
I do? I’m panting, feeling boneless.
“I want to taste you, too,” I admit, when I get a look at the tent in his jeans.
“Later, Little Chick. Now we need real food.”
I pout, but he’s already taking drinks from the fridge.
“What did you get?” I ask, sliding down the counter. When my foot touches the ground, I lose my balance, but Ezra is there to hold me up.He anticipated my fall, the thought makes me smile with contentment.
“Chinese.” He lets me go to grab some paper napkins.
“My favorite.”
“I know,” he says as he takes a seat.
That reminds me. “Have you ever entered my dorm room when I wasn’t there?” My hands are gripping the edge of the counter, and I’m holding my breath.
“Come here.” Ezra taps his leg, inviting me to sit on his lap.
“Will you give me answers?”
“Yes.” He opens one of the Chinese boxes, and the smell of steamed dim sum makes my stomach grumble.
I climb on his lap, sitting sideways. His arm wraps around my waist, and he adjusts my position before focusing on the food. My naked ass is right on his jeans-clad groin, and I don’t know why, but it makes me feel all self-conscious for a moment. He lifts a piece of pork dumpling near my mouth, and I let him feed it to me, savoring the hearty taste.
“So, did you ever enter my dorm while I wasn’t there?” I ask a while later around a bite of spring roll.
“Yes. I did.”
Well, I’ve never had much privacy—not in my father’s house where we had to put a chair under the door knob to stop people from entering, nor at Ollie and Rague’s where I practically shared my bedroom with Brad since I couldn’t sleep by myself after the attack; even less in the dorm where students don’t understand the meaning of knocking. I’ve never been attached to things either because I never had much to begin with. That doesn’t mean that I’m thrilled about having someone looking at my stuff, but maybe because it was Ezra is kind of flattering, actually. It shows his interest in me.
“Did you go through my stuff? What am I saying? Of course you did.” I accept another piece of bun while I try to remember if I ever felt like something was missing or misplaced. “Where did you watch me from? Did you have a favorite spot?”
“The tree outside your window.”
“The oak tree?” I knew there was something out there. Never thought it would be Ezra, though. “It must have been uncomfortable.”
“At times.” He smirks…suggestively.
Does that mean…was he there when I touched myself? My ears are on fire. It’s too late for my cheeks and neck.
“You are good, I never saw you.” I felt you, though.
“It’s part of my job.”
“Being a hitman?” I heard the others talking about it. That’s how I also know that he’s slowly fitting inside the brotherhood. Uri and Sari are making sure of it.
His hand slides under the hoodie and rests on my hip. The grip is loose but firm.
“That’s the one.”
My eyes fall on the burn on his wrist. Eight. That number reminds me of the day Rague explained about the experiments and torture they all had to endure, and about the family side business—as they call it. I never judged them or felt repelled by what they do. I know there are really horrible people walking this earth. I saw them right in the eyes, felt their wrongness on my skin. What the brotherhood does is balance the scale of justice while keeping their inner darkness at bay. I guess it’s different for each one of them. What is Ezra’s reason to kill? Is it just money? And if it is, can I accept it? Can I accept what he does whatever the reason?
“Isn’t turning you into assassins what the scientists wanted in the first place?” I ask him instead.
“It was. But I’m not that kind of assassin.”
