Page 126 of Ruthless Intent

CHAPTER SEVENTY

ASHLEY

I’m not sure what wakes me. A change in the level of darkness, a sound, some sixth sense. It could be anything. But my eyes open, and I transition from asleep to awake in a heartbeat.

My mouth is dry, and my head is aching.

Too much wine, too little sleep.

I don’t want to go down to the kitchen to get a drink. I have no idea what time it is, but I don’t want to risk bumping into anyone. I’ll rinse my mouth out, and hope that’s enough.

Throwing back the sheets, I sit up.

It feels late. But for all I know it could still be evening time. Standing up, I walk across to the window and pull the curtain back a little. It’s dark outside. The moon is hidden by clouds. Everywhere is still and silent.

Letting the curtain drop, I turn and make my way over to the bathroom. Light floods out when I open the door. I thought I’d turned it off earlier. Crossing the tiles, I stop by the sink and cup my hands under the faucet to catch the cold water. It’s halfway to my lips when another sound infiltrates my thoughts.

Slowly, I turn my head.

Oh no.

There’s someone in the shower. I think it’s a man. Probably Zain.

His back is to me so I can’t say for sure, but I doubt it’s anyone else. My gaze is caught and held by the tattoo covering his back, and it takes a second or two for me to figure out what I’m seeing.

I’m not entirely certain if it’s an angel or a devil. But whatever it is, its face is hidden by a hood. Its arms are crossed in front of its body and over the pommel of a sword, which runs the length of his body. Large feathered black wings spread out either side of the figure, and around its legs are skulls stacked in piles.

There are broken lines through the whole image, making it look like a photograph that had been torn into four pieces at some point and then taped back together.

It’s macabre and beautiful.

I straighten, my intention to creep out before he spots me, but then he turns slightly, and I freeze.

It’s definitely Zain. I would recognize that profile anywhere.

While I watch, he lifts an arm and braces his hand against the tiled wall. His head is tipped back, those dark eyes closed, and the spray from the water falls over his face and down his body.

And then I make the mistake of looking down.

Oh. My. God.

He’s stroking himself. His hand moving up and down in a smooth, slow rhythm. The muscles of his arm play beneath his skin with each move.

And I … can’t … look … away.

I have to get out of here before he opens his eyes and sees me. But my feet won’t work. I’m glued to the spot, my eyes riveted to the hand gripping his dick.

My tongue sweeps over my lips when his thumb strokes over the tip, and my skin heats up.

I shouldn’t be watching him.

I shouldn’t be liking what I’m seeing.

I’m going to hell.

But I still don’t move.

He’s going to open his eyes at any second and see me.

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