Page 33 of Possessive

Her eyes were wide as she looked back at me. A brief moment of confusion crossed her face before she blinked and stopped trying to pull away from me. I had the distinct impression she'd gotten lost in the past somehow. Whatever had her upset went beyond cutting the woman's throat today. Something happened that haunted her, something that had nothing to do with Kurt.

"We'll find them," she whispered.

"Yes," I said. "When we do, they'll get what they deserve."

She shivered. "What they deserve," she echoed. "Yes, they should get that. Everything that's coming to them."

I couldn't shake the feeling she was talking about herself.

CHAPTER 13

MINA

I pulled on silky pyjama pants and a sleep singlet and sat down on my bed, my back against the pillows.

My hand still tingled from where Reuben cleaned the blood off my skin. I could still feel his touch long after the blood dried. So gentle and thorough, right before he ordered the deaths of several people.

Some would call him a monster, but my whole body throbbed in a way I hadn't felt in the longest time. Chained up in that cage, the last thing on my mind was intimacy or arousal. All of my attention was occupied with surviving.

Now, with time to think about other things, I could dwell on killing that woman.

I acted out of anger. That was the worst thing I could have done. I was trained to be cool, calm and rational. Not furious and rash. In spite of Reuben, Gianni and Damon’s reassurances, I was regretful, my anger now turned inward to myself.

After a brief tap on the door, it swung inward and Reuben stepped inside. He wore black trousers and a dark grey button down, folded to his elbows. This seemed to be as casual as he ever got. I suspected he didn't own a pair of jeans or even a T-shirt. What would it take to convince him to try either of those?

He was handsome and compelling, especially with those intense, ice blue eyes. He also had the muscles to pull off a T-shirt and make women stare. Men too.

He didn't wait for an invitation. He closed the door behind him and stepped over to sit on the side of the bed.

"Have you come to tell me again that I shouldn't blame myself?" I asked. "Because you can say whatever you want I'm still going to?—"

"I didn't." He spoke in a voice that was both deep and as compelling as his eyes. "I saw your reaction to killing that woman. And to Hunter killing that other man." He seemed to be hunting for his name, but couldn't remember.

"Benny," I supplied.

He hummed his agreement in the back of his throat. "They tend to blur together after a while. That's not important. What's important is you. What you were feeling at the time."

"Are we having a therapy session?" I asked lightly.

He choked back a soft laugh. "Fuck no. Not exactly."

"Then what?" I asked. "I wasn't bothered by seeing them die. I've seen enough death that it doesn't get to me anymore."

He tilted his head back and looked over at me. "I think we both know that's not true. It does get to you. You like it. Death turns you on."

His words left me breathless for a couple of heartbeats. Of all the things people ever said to me, this was the first time I felt as though anyone actually understood me. More than that, he looked at me with absolutely no judgement. No, whatever he thought about this, he wasn't judging me for it.

"I never said I wasn't fucked up," I said.

He made no move towards me. Or away. "You're not fucked up. Everyone has things that arouse them. It's what we do with them that matters."

"You've come to share what gets you off?" I asked.

One of his eyebrows twitched. "This isn't about me. This is about you and what you need."

"And what do I need?" I whispered. The idea of being touched was terrifying, but the way my pussy reacted to his presence, to the memory of warm blood all over my hand, I needed something.

"I'm guessing you didn't touch yourself when you were in that cage," he said.

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