Page 35
His hands are warm and surprisingly tender with me. With a small adjustment, he pulls a switchblade from his pocket; it gleams under the low light.
My breath catches in my throat. Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
“I once heard that different eyes see different things,” he begins, soft and philosophical.
The blade clicks open with a sound that echoes.
“I see my sister’s death as a tragedy, while you see it as justice.”
He runs the blade slowly up my shin, shaving off the faint stubble with terrifying precision. The metal is cold against my skin, but I don’t move. I barely breathe.
“You see your boyfriend’s death as the end of an era; I see it as freedom and a new beginning for you.”
The way he speaks is hypnotic and soothing. The blade continues on careful paths, never nicking my skin.
The intimacy of it is overwhelming. Wrong. And yet, I can’t deny the way my body responds to his complete focus.
My voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “What about Blaire?”
“A distraction removed.”
His hands don’t pause their work.
“And Hudson? Did you…”
He meets my gaze, unwavering. His eyes seem to connect with mine so intensely that it makes me feel exposed and seen in ways I don’t want to be. A chill runs up my spine, colder than the blade. The simple look holds more menace than any threat could ever have.
“When does it stop? When will you be satisfied? Are you going to kill everyone around me until there’s no one left?”
“You’re saying it like that’s a bad thing,” he says with a faint smile. “I see it differently, darling. I see you shedding your skin through it all, becoming who you’re meant to be: strong and dangerous and absolutely magnificent.”
He sits up in the tub, water cascading from his clothes, and reaches forward. His thumb grazes the cut on my cheek. Though the touch is soft, I wince at the sting; he doesn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he continues to trace the wound.
“You’ve never looked more powerful. You’re beautiful, darling.”
His fingers brush from my face, down my neck, to my shoulder, lingering on a purple bruise that must’ve happened during my fight with Ellie. The touch is reverent. He is memorizing each mark of violence as proof of my transformation, whereas before, he couldn’t stand to look at the marks that littered my skin.
I want to recoil, to slap his hand away and scream at him, but I also want to know what he will do next. How far will he go?
His stare holds mine, searching.
“If you’d let me, I’d fuck you right here, right now in this mess we’ve made.”
The statement isn’t totally unexpected. I’d felt it building, the sick energy between us. A dark corner of my brain considers it for a split second; I imagine saying yes, how it would feel to give in completely to what he wants and let him consume the last pieces of me. I’d finally give him the control over me and my body he wants so badly.
I lean in closer, my eyes wandering to his lips, then back to his stare. There are just mere inches between our faces, and I whisper, “Not a chance in hell.”
He throws his head back, laughing. The unhinged sound of joy reverberates through the bathroom walls. It’s the laugh of genuine delight, regardless of my rejection.
“Oh, Wynnie.” He reaches for my braid, twisting it around his fingers before allowing it to fall with a soft splash. “You’ve changed. Do you feel it running through you yet?”
He doesn’t let me answer; he stands slowly, soaked clothes sticking to his muscular frame, water dripping from him, leaving behind a trail of rain. His boots squelch against the tile as he steps out of the tub.
“We’re bound together, you and me. Tied together by secrets we’ll both die with. Blood and all the beautiful things we’ve done. You can hate me all you want, but you’ll never be free of me. You’ve tasted it now, and nothing else will feel as real as when you take a life.”
Preston gives me one last glance when he reaches the doorway, gleaming with pride and possession.
“I’ll start cleaning up. Rest now, my darling.”
