Page 40 of Snitches and Serpents

Then I wrench myself away.

Elle gasps.

Her usually so perfect hair is now mussed from where my fingers have run through it, and her hoodie has ridden up her stomach. Still pressed against the wall, she stares up at me with bewildered brown eyes.

Reaching forward, I gently pull her hoodie back down so that it covers her stomach. Then I smooth out the fabric the way that I have seen her do to her clothes before.

She just stares at me, mouth slightly open.

Her lips are a little swollen from the furious kiss. My cock aches at the sight of it. Which makes me furious.

Clearing my throat, I take two steps back. “I’ll see you around.”

And then, without another word, I turn and stride away before I can do something really stupid.

15

ELLE

Is it possible to be shell-shocked even though you’ve never been to war? It must be. Because that’s how I feel right now. I feel like a bomb just went off and I was hit by the shockwave.

What the hell just happened?

Lifting my hand, I brush my fingers over my lips while I watch Tristan stride away from the alley. The muscles in his back shift underneath his black t-shirt as he rolls his shoulders and then flexes his right hand. Repeatedly. I stare at those stunning tattoos that cover his arms before I drag my gaze up to the back of his head again.

My fingers remain against my lips.

My utterly, thoroughly, kissed lips.

Disbelief rings like bells inside my skull.

What on earth just happened? I thought he hated me. But God, the way he kissed me. That’s not how you kiss someone you hate. You don’t even kiss someone you hate at all. So what is going on here?

And more importantly, why did I kiss him back? He has been making my life hell since the day I got here. I shouldn’t have kissed him back. I should have pushed him off. Slapped him. Run away. Screamed. Something. Anything. Anything except kiss him back.

Standing there frozen by the wall, I watch Tristan disappear from view.

The sight fills me with both relief and an unexpected pang of disappointment.

There is something about Tristan Kane that makes me feel wild. Makes me feel free in a way that I never have before. As if I can shatter the suffocating rules and restrictions that have dictated my life from the day I was born. Something that makes me feel as if I can scream and react and feel and breathe, and that that’s okay. And every time I see him, he somehow pushes me farther and farther towards that version of myself.

It terrifies me. But at the same time, it fills me with excitement so intense that it leaves me lightheaded.

Letting my hand drop from my mouth, I draw in a deep breath to calm my racing heart. I feel breathless. My pulse still pounds in my ears and my skin is on fire from where he touched me. I have to resist an incredibly strong urge to lift my hoodie and press my palms against my stomach to see if I can still feel the heat of his hands there.

Instead, I raise my hands and rake them through my hair a few times until I have smoothened it down again. Then I give my head a firm shake to clear it of all the stupid thoughts that still linger in there.

Crouching down, I push my new bed linen back into the paper bag and then lift it from the ground. It rustles faintly into the now silent afternoon.

The sound of it snaps me back to reality. The reason that I went to the shop to buy these sheets was because Tristan left a dead rat in my bed. Not three hours ago, I was ready to kill him for that. And now I’m suddenly reeling because he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me as if he had waited his entire life for it.

God, I’m pathetic. And stupid.

I don’t know why Tristan is playing this game of hot and cold, but I need to get my head on straight and focus on what’s important. Rebuilding my perfect reputation so that I will never have to hear the disappointment in my dad’s voice again.

Straightening my spine, I give myself a determined nod and then stride out of the alley.

Winds whirl down the street, pulling at my hair and making me shiver. I’m glad I put on the hoodie before I left. I usually only wear hoodies inside my own home, since it’s not proper attire for the daughter of the mayor, but after everything that went down with the rats, I found myself not caring if people saw me in a hoodie. I won’t be able to wear it again, though. At least not if I want to repair my public image.

---