Eli’s scowl could bend metal. I lick the taste of blood from my lips, his dark aura a solace I’d rather not embrace.
Milo’s blonde mess of hair and gangly limbs appear in the doorway. He looks different without the cerulean-blue jumpsuit I saw him in for weeks on end, now in black pants and a sky-blue T-shirt that’s too loose and too small at once. “Do these two ever leave you alone?” he asks me. “Come on. I have food for you. And questions.”
“They do not.” I throw the blanket aside, then whip it back over myself at the sight of my bare legs. “When did you take off my pants?” I snap at Eli.
“Theseare yours.” He retrieves a folded set of his clothes from the top of a dresser, oversized black pants and a black T-shirt like I’ve been wearing for nearly two months, and tosses it onto the bed, no sign of the tight gray pants I had on when I screamed myself to sleep.
“I’m not your doll to dress.”
“No? You’re bendy as fuck. Your hair is always a mess. And somehow, you hardly ever have clothes on.” No smile lurks behind his set jaw.
“Because you keep taking them!” I kick the clothes off the bed, then lean back against the pillows and tuck my hands behind my head, collecting myself enough to slip on a little smirk and make him anxious.
His widening eyes go straight to the bare skin exposed with the rising of my shirt, and his hand travels to his ear as if pulled by a magnet. He tugs on the lobe. His nervous habit.
Success.
But it’s short-lived. He releases his ear and narrows his eyes at me, all the seriousness in the world packed into his glare, as if he truly wants nothing to do with me. “That kind of defiance is nothing some handcuffs and chains can’t fix.”
My cheeks flush instantly, warmth enveloping my chest and stomach and thighs.
He notices it as quickly as it came on, eyes glinting as if he could see straight through me. My heart probably gave me away again.
I can’t let him win. I dive at him, but he steps backward and lets me fall to the floor, my legs tangling in the sheet.
Glass shards left over from last night’s fit punch through the fabric and into my skin. “Dammit.” I pull a chunk of glass from the back of my thigh.
Eli’s eyes lock onto the expanding red blotch on the sheet, soft with regret before he blinks it away, then his gaze turns lustful. Yet he only watches as I dislodge more glass from my flesh. Kelter doesn’t bother to help me up either, though the torn look on his face says he wants to.Assholes.
Milo takes a step closer and pauses to absorb the scene—the bed of broken crystal, the blood, the two men staring down at me. His toothy smile spreads. “Put on some pants, doll, and let’s go.”
I’m not sure if I growl louder or Eli.
“She’s not going anywhere. Everyone out,” he demands. Fingers work down my neck as his darkness floods the room.
“Iamgoing.” I fight my way free from the sheet and drape it around my waist as I stand up, finding glass-free spots for my feet. “I have questions too.”
“Later, I guess.” Milo tugs Kelter out the door by his shirt, whispering. “What’s a doll?”
I flip to Eli as soon as the door slams shut, the sheet balled in my fists. “Where’s my mother?”
The only sound is the crack of glass as he makes his way to the door with a stone in hand, his back to me. Then the click of the lock. He turns around, and the only way to describe the look he gives is primal.
No no no. I will not let desire cloud the few rational thoughts I have. But my body ignites. Blood trickles down the back of my leg, and I try to blink away the image I form of him licking it off.
He steps closer.Crunch. And closer.
“Back the fuck up, mister. You stole me away from everything I knew.”
“Mister?” He laughs. A dark, sexy laugh that gives me the urge to shove my fist down his throat. And climb on top of him. The taste of blood crowds my mouth again. “What happened to Eli?”
“You don’t deserve for me to use your name. You put me through nightmare after nightmare and lied to me for months.” Still, I expect him to pull me into his arms and make me forget, but he’s cold and callous, even with his threatening laugh. I still need to know. “Did you kill my mother?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re going to?” I ask.
“I plan to gut her, then stuff her intestines down her throat.”
