Page 62 of Her Bully

“Told you. I always get what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“You.” He smirks, and I guess it’s lucky for me we want the same thing. Maybe I’m in over my head. Maybe I’m crazy too. Because I want him. I want to belong to Kyson Allen. I want him to belong to me. He claims he’s the king around here, and I’m going to teach him that even the greatest of kings still bow to a queen.

I cup his jaws between my hands. His gaze meets mine. There’s lust swirling in his eyes, but there’s also something else. I think just maybe the jerk might love me.

Maybe he always has, and that’s why he also hates me.

Because guys like him aren’t supposed to love anything or anyone but themselves. But Kyson Allen isn’t most guys. He’s mine.

“You didn’t pull out.”

“I know.” He rests his forehead against mine.

“Are you insane?”

“Thought you knew that by now.”

Closing my eyes, I try not to freak out.

He brushes his lips against mine, sweet and reassuring. “Hey, Dahlia,” he croons. “Look at me.”

“Yeah?” I reply in a breathy pant, trying to recover from the past fifteen minutes.

His expression softens and I wonder if he’s going to admit that he loves me. “I…” he starts then stops.

“I know. You don’t have to say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you love me. I know you do.”

“You think I love you?” He laughs.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t but you will. Smile pretty for the camera.” He twists my head to the kitchen window where I see not only Remy but Gauge recording us.

I’m going to be sick. Tears hit my cheeks steady as summer rain as bile burns its way up throat. “I hate you.” I shove against his shoulders as he pulls his pants up.

“Don’t worry. They can’t hear us. I won’t tell them your filthy little secret the same as you won’t tell them none of mine. Be nice and maybe I’ll spilt the money with you.”

“Money?” I croak.

“Thanks to you, I just won a bet. We’ve been playing my favorite game. F. M. K.”

Those letters are familiar, but I don’t know why. “What?”

“Fuck. Marry. Kill,” he explains. “I’ve just fucked you, lil’ doll. But don’t look so sad, sweetheart. We’re just getting started. You’re my three. Next comes marriage. Then comes death.” He smirks as my hand whips across his face. He touches his lip and smiles as the blood on his finger. “May the best man or woman win.”

“Win what?”

“I’m going to play with you like your father did with your mother and my mother played with my father.”

“Not if I kill you first,” I seethe.

“We’ll see who falls first and makes the sacrifice,” he states like I’m supposed to know what that means. “Good luck, dolly.” He kisses my forehead and walks out the back door leaving me to wonder what any of this means.

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