Page 20 of Promise to Break

Liam sneers. "Yeah, I bet his daddy's cock isn't as big and well-equipped. Now, shoo, bitch. Killer Boy has to deal with his girl."

My girl. Liam called Maricela my girl. That wasn't a slip. It was planned. We all knew that she wouldn't bend over to my first attempt at seducing her, but why are those words so appealing to me? My girl. My wild child.

"Mr. Bourne." Her fake boobs bounce in tandem as she steps closer. What does my father see in her? Oh, yeah, connections. Only she doesn't know it yet.

"It's Liam to you, Mrs. My Husband Isn't Enough for Me. My father is Mr. Bourne, and he won't fuck you. He actually likes my mother for some reason. Now go away and wash some other boy's head with why a woman should stay at home, or I'll make you." Liam's delivery is full of fake niceties as he stares her down until she cowers and walks away. This woman will be one of the people I'll have to take care of at some point, but for now, her humiliation has to suffice.

"Go and get her." Liam pushes me toward the wild child. My wild child.

The modus operandi I had toward Maricela changed drastically since she sucked on a dry banana for me. Her insolence should grate on my nerves, but instead, I let her sass me.

I keep my gaze on hers. Her nose is scrunched adorably, but her eyes are firm and steady. I don't think she knows about this little tell of hers, or she'd probably do anything to control it. Maricela thinks she's a riddle to me, and while she's right on some level, she's still wrong.

I've been watching her for two years, learning to predict her moves. Now, for instance, she's wishing she could bathe in my blood and ruin me, but she would eventually succumb to her conscience. I've seen that tell every time she speaks to Raven about Emanuel or me.

Maricela squashes the little demon inside and never lets it out to play. Maybe I should let her.

She comes to the door, looking perturbed, and pushes me into the hallway, closing the door behind her. No doubt, she made the concession only to avoid having our confrontation played out before the entire class. God only knows why the bitch of hell took Emanuel's place.

"You have no shame," she says, her accusatory tone entertaining me. That's it. Maricela is like a new toy with updated technology inside. The sooner I know how to push all her buttons, the sooner she'll bore me like all the others.

"I don't," I reply. "Shame is not for people like us, Little Girl." I get close to her, picking up her scent of wild waters. It's intoxicating and makes it easy for me to ignore the crowd that's gathering in the hallway, no doubt, to watch the show.

"It is for me. I'm nothing like you."

"Aren't you, though?" I pull her by the waist, plastering her body to mine. Junior tries to wake up as soon as he senses our new obsession. She can clearly feel what she does to me if the horror on her face is any indication.

"What do you want from me, Cabron?" A heavy sigh leaves her. It's as if the universe is on her shoulders. Maybe it is.

Maybe if I was a better human being, I would have stopped this.

I'm not.

I won't.

All I see is her eyes, pools of forest green, and a clear sky. They never rest, always changing. Right now, the blue has almost swallowed the green completely, but it's still there, not letting its companion forget its existence.

I play with a strand of her hair. It's silky and heavy between my fingers. The muddy rust color is just like her, dormant inside but lively in the sun. She looks like one of those magical pixies in the stories Raven liked to read as a child.

"I thought you would never ask. Speak to me in dirty Spanish again."

"So, tell me. I hate games."

"But I like them," I say, my lips turning up in one corner.

She looks at the ceiling as if expecting some deity to help her. Shame no one will. "And what is the aim of your game?"

"You."

Her eyes meet mine again, and now the green is more dominant, reminding me that the forest is full of thorns. I dig my fingers into her flesh, making her stumble a little. That won't do. I need a reaction. A visceral one. I squeeze, and she erupts, gifting me only the tiniest reaction in the form of a barely there yelp. Her mouth refuses to close, giving me a full view of her pink tongue.

Fuck, she's perfect.

"I won't give up," she nearly spits out. "I don't know what you want, but I'm not one of your whores, no matter what you think."

A whore. The number of times she's heard this word from me and others is unprecedented. I will have to rectify that. She'll be a whore, but only my whore. My slut, mine.

"I'll make you," I reply with total confidence.

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