Page 5 of Fatal Scheme

I’m untouchable around here, and everyone either knows it, is afraid of me, or saves their hushed whispers for when I’m out of earshot, but I don’t mind their fear, sometimes choosing to use it as a catalyst for a little fun at their expense.

After my fourth drink, I’m ready to call it a night but when I pass through the kitchen one last time, I’m frozen in place, captivated by a girl I’ve never seen before.

She doesn’t fit in with this crowd, immediately standing out amongst the preppy, rich girls that typically show up at these parties, but that only fuels the fire under my feet even more.

A strange feeling takes over, something I’ve never experienced before, and I’m almost desperate to know the dark angel planted in my home, only steps away from me.

Fuck it, I think to myself, what’s the worst that can happen, she throws her drink in my face?

She’s absolutely gorgeous, and I’m certain that at any second her boyfriend will emerge from the woodwork, but if I can spend one moment in her orbit, that may be enough to jump start the dead space where my heart is supposed to be.

As I stalk closer, I find myself taking in every inch of her body, from the boots, to the extra short skirt, all the way up to her lacy tank top, but my breath nearly hitches when her bright blue eyes meet mine, almost like I’m caught in an ice storm in the middle of summer.

My blood goes cold, a shiver erupts over my entire body, and although it’s something I’ve never felt before, I’m desperate to know the girl who has such incredible power over me, without speaking a single word.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” I say, immediately regretting the cheesiest, stupidest line I’ve ever laid on a woman.

She doesn’t break eye contact as she downs the rest of her drink in one gulp, and fuck, the fire that resides in her is like an inferno, threatening to burn me alive.

“Vodka. Straight. No ice.” She shoves her cup into my chest, not even blinking as she makes her move, waiting to see what mine will be.

We’re playing chess, certainly not checkers, and I’ll entertain her, if only to find out what else she has up her sleeve.

Without a word, I hold my hand out for her to take, and she raises an eyebrow, pausing before clasping her palm into mine.

Her skin is baby soft, and shots of electricity flow through me, just because our fucking hands are touching.

Who is this woman?

We’ve only connected for a few fleeting moments, but already I can sense something within her, and it isn’t the fear that usually radiates off girls when they’re with me, this is different.

She is different.

“You going to say anything, or are you just going to drag me around the party like I’m your leashed poodle?” She snaps, rolling her eyes as she stares up at me, a bored expression on her face.

“You’re no poodle. Maybe a trained-to-kill german shepherd, or a feral house cat that can claw your eyes out.” I wink at her, and she’s completely unfazed, that sassy attitude practically dripping off of her. “Tell me your name.”

“Make me that drink,” she says, the first semblance of a smile breaking across her face, and I’m left imagining what else those pretty pink lips can do.

Pressing her back against the counter, I reach around her frame until my hand meets a bottle of vodka, pouring it into her red cup without breaking our eye contact.

Before I hand it back, I take a sip, challenging her to do the same without fear of it being spiked, but she barely blinks, bringing the cup to her lips the second I pass it.

“Carter,” she whispers around the burn of the liquor, her gaze meeting mine once again.

“Jasper, but everyone calls me Massi,” I say in return, and she smirks, an indecipherable look on her face.

“Thanks for the drink, Jasper.” She starts to walk away, but I reach out, snatching her arm and pulling her until our bodies are flush.

A slight blush forms on her cheeks at the sudden movement, and I catch a sparkle in her ice-blue eyes, mixed with a hint of mischief.

She’s a mystery, one I’m determined to crack, and I sense the same energy from her, both of us intrigued by the other.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, Carter?”

“Why would I be? You don’t strike me as someone who’d spike my drink or take advantage of me,” she says confidently, and I can’t help but smile, impressed by her quick wit.

“Then what’s with the thigh sheath?” I ask, my fingertips grazing the leather strapped to her leg, the piece immediately revealing itself the moment our bodies touched.