Page 95 of White Noise

And still offensively hot, which pisses me off almost as much as the whole crawling-out-of-my-monitor situation.

His attention moves over the room before settling on me, taking in the temporary setup balanced on my nightstand and the salvaged equipment I spent half the day piecing back together after he destroyed everything else.

“You rebuilt it.” There is no amusement in his voice.

I fold my arms. “You break my shit, I replace it. Complicated concept, I know.”

His black eyes stay on the monitor for another second before returning to me. “And then you went right back on camera.”

“Yeah. That’s generally what people do with streaming equipment.”

Silas starts toward me, slow enough that the threat is worse than if he rushed. His jaw is tight, the scar I gave him cutting through an expression that has gone almost completely blank.

“You sat there and let them watch you.”

I arch a brow. “Were you confused about what I do for a living?”

“I know exactly what you do.”

The answer comes low and hard.

He stops close enough that I can feel the current beneath his skin without him touching me, and the room picks up a faint electrical hum around us.

“That’s why I’m fucking annoyed.”

I blink at him. “Aw. Should I apologize?”

“No.”

His gaze drags slowly over me, possessive enough to make my skin crawl.

“You should fucking learn.”

My smile disappears. “Learn what?”

“That they don’t matter. Not anymore.”

A humorless laugh escapes me. “They pay me, Silas. That automatically makes them more useful than you.”

The hum in the room deepens.

“They used to pay you. Before you became mine, little echo.”

I stare at him for a second before laughing outright. “Oh, fuck off. You do not get to lay claim to me and stop me from streaming. I’m not yours.”

His hand closes around the edge of the nightstand beside my hip, fingers tightening until the wood gives a faint creak.

“Hm.” He sneers, “Void thought the same thing.”

That wipes the laugh off my face. “Void paid for my attention for years. He had more of a claim on me than you fucking do.”

Silas doesn’t hesitate. “Maybe. But guess where that got him? Fucking Dead.”

He doesn’t even attempt to make it sound better.

He says it with the same certainty he uses when he tells me I belong to him, as if killing someone for crossing a boundary he invented requires no more explanation than turning off a fucking light.

I shake my head. “You’re fucking insane.”