Page 19 of Psycho Sinners

"Got some fight in you, huh?" His breath was hot against my cheek, his dark eyes glinting like glass.

"Get off me," I spat, but it came out less intimidating and more like a wheeze.

He brought his hand up to his face, swiping at the blood and then bringing his hand up beside my face, those dark eyes moving to the smear on his fingers. For a moment, he just looked at it, his expression unreadable. Then, before I could guess his next move, he wiped it onto my lips with a deliberate stroke, delving his finger between them despite my attempts to turn my cheek.

"War paint," he said, that wretched smile playing on his lips.

"Psycho," I shot back, tasting iron despite my attempts to not let the blood into my mouth. It was unsanitary and far too risky. This freak could be carrying God-knows-what in his blood, and I bared my teeth. Then again, I’d already bitten his brother.

I lurched against him, attempting to free myself, but he just chuckled and pressed himself against me harder.

His excitement now jammed into my lower stomach had me gritting my teeth.

“What happened?” Someone called out, a voice that didn’t belong to Cristian. It was gruffer and deeper, belonging to someone who I pictured was more than capable of snapping me two.

“She whacked me with the hair dryer, I’ll be fine,” Julian responded, those dark eyes locked onto mine. They were pits of twisted joy, dragging me into their depths in an attempt to drown me.

“Cristian said you had claws, little kitty.”

My heart thrashed against my ribcage, skipping several beats as he began feeling me up. Although it became clear he was searching for something. I tried to move away, but he only pinned me harder against the wall.

He found what he was looking for as he yanked my phone from my back pocket, and I watched with dismay as he tossed it out into the hall.

“Fuck you,” I snarled, and he barked out a horrid laugh.

“I’d like that, pyro.” He arched a brow before dipping his head, and I grimaced, my skin crawling as he dragged his tongue up my cheek. I couldn’t move despite my best efforts, and I just thrashed my head as he pulled back and cocked his own.

His lips curled into a grotesque promise, a snarl dressed as a smile. "I'm going to fuck you," he stated, a blend of threat and promise. "And you're going to like it."

The words slithered over me like a serpent, making my blood curdle.

"Like hell I will," I growled, the taste of blood and fury thick on my tongue. "You'll be raping me."

"Rape?" He chuckled darkly, and the sound of it skittered up my spine. "Such a harsh word for what we both know is inevitable."

"Only in your dreams,” I retorted.

His gaze drilled into me, unyielding, as if he could command me into submission with sheer willpower. But he couldn't. Not me. I was chaos incarnate, a term coined by Noms years ago, I was broken but never beaten. I refused to stay down no matter what life threw at me, and I wasn’t about to become a goddamn plaything for him and his crazy brother.

“I think you’ll find yourself dreaming of me soon enough,” he said, his hand moving to my throat. His brow twitched as he took in the bruises littering my skin, but then he wrapped his own hand around my neck.

Fear coiled in my gut, but I refused to show it, years of having to toughen myself and hide my pain and terror making themselves known.

“Are you afraid, little pyro?” he whispered as he leaned forward, his lips brushing mine.

I took what chance I had, intent to wound him like he planned for me.

I snapped forward, my teeth gnashing together. He wasn’t fast enough as he attempted to yank back, and I caught the edge of his lip. I bit down with all my might as he hissed, his grip tightening like a vice, threatening to shatter my defiance. But I wouldn't let him as I held on.

Blood snuck between my teeth, the metallic taste tarnishing my mouth as my airway was constricted. The pain was immeasurable on my already bruised throat.

But if I was going to die here, I was sure as shit going to leave a mark.

I wasn’t going to let go, but when my vision started to blur on the edges, his hand on my throat threatening to finish me for good, my bite loosened. He was quick to free himself with a quick jerk of his head, although his grip didn’t falter as I struggled for air.

My arms were pinned between our bodies, and I writhed, desperate to get some oxygen as he ran his tongue over his injured lip.

“Fuck,” he hissed. His scowl was a harbinger of storms as he yanked me from the bathroom, his grip ironclad. My bare feet scraped and stumbled over the cold tiles, every jerk a crude reminder of my sudden plunge from fiery resistance to helpless prey. He hauled me into the living room, and my vision danced as I now clawed at his arm feebly.

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