I groan into my pillow, knowing I’m going to have to get up soon, but I’m a mess. I need to shower and change thesheets.
The ache between my legs is still there, and frustration irks me.
The bastard left me hanging, and he knows it.
Blowing out a deep breath, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and head into the adjoining bathroom. It’s small, but it’s the first time in a long time I’ve had one to myself, and I love it.
When I lift my head to look into the mirror above the sink, my heart skips a beat, my face is streaked with blood, probably from Killa’s rough handling. Yet my eyes gleam, almost looking alive again, and I find myself pissed at the thought.
Leave it to me to feel alive at being used.
Story of my damn life.
I spin away, unable to analyze the thought any longer, turn on the shower, and step inside.
As the water cascades over me, I tilt my head to the side, and the scent of Killa’s aftershave fills my nostrils. Woodsy combined with smoke and laced in fury. Just the lingering scent of him has the ache between my legs intensifying. I deflate, knowing his touch is being washed away. The same touch that felt like electricity rushing through my veins, bringing every dormant cell in my body to life.
I always believed I was broken, and maybe it takes two tarnished souls to heal, to create their own normality.
A unity forged in brutality.
A little demon and its devil.
KILLA
I wait for one of them to stir and discover I’m here, along with all my offerings, hoping playing nice will get me the answers I desire.
A small part of me, the one I keep refusing to listen to, tells me I want this, that I’m just using my hatred as an excuse to act on how I truly feel.
“Who are you?” a little voice whispers, and I glance over my shoulder at the kid. “What’s that?” He points toward the bags. “Are they for Mama?”
Jesus, he doesn’t even give me a chance to answer before he fires question after question at me.
“What’syour name?”
“Killa,” I say, getting to my feet, then I wince when he takes a step back.
I must look damn intimidating to a little kid. So I kneel on the floor, hoping I don’t appear as much of a threat.
“That’s a different name. I’m Noah.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s a road name. Like a nickname.”
“My road name isn’t very nice.”
My blood pumps wildly at his insinuation. “Someone calling you bad names?”
He nods, and his dark hair drops in front of his eyes. Some little fuckers will pay for hurting him, or at least their parents will, given we don’t touch kids.
“That ain’t a road name. That’s little pricks trying to hurt you.”
“I know.” He moves toward the kitchen table and takes a seat.
“You want breakfast?” I motion toward the bags on the table.
His eyes light up, and fuck, that smile hits me square in the chest, making it difficult to breathe for a split moment. Then I clear my throat, refusing to get drawn in further, and remain on target. “Your mama, does she have any friends over?” Hunter has been tracking her, and so far, nothing. She appears to be completely alone. “Friends from where you used to live?”
His eyebrows pinch together, and he taps his finger to his lip.
