Page 75 of Milo

"Yes, tesoro.” His eyebrows knit in profound understanding. "I know."

"No! You don't! You can't! In order to experience human emotions, you need to be a fucking human! And you—" I clench my teeth, shaking my head. "You're a monster, a fucking criminal with no heart, no conscience, no regard for human life!"

His troubled gaze scans my face, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "You are not a monster, Kiara.” He takes a measured step toward me, hesitating for a brief second before caressing my cheek with the back of his large hand. His knuckles catch falling hot tears. "You are not a monster."

"I wasn't until I met you!" I push against his firm chest with two hands. "You did this! I was fine before you! Everything was fine! And now?" I suck in a ragged breath, slamming my palms against his torso. "I don't even know who I am anymore! You did this! This is all your fault!"

Milo stands frozen, his expression uncharacteristically submissive as I beat my fists against his chest.

"Why?!" I shove him, voice cracking, pained. "Why did you have to come to my bank? Why did you have to choose my till? Why me? Why?! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't feel like this! I wouldn't feel so lost, so empty, so fucking broken! I hate you! I fucking hate you!"

"I am sorry, Kiara.” Milo closes his eyes as I continue my assault. "I am sorry this happened, and I am so sorry that you are hurting—" He pauses, sucking in a small breath. "But?—"

My head snaps up, my fingers scrunching up the fabric of his shirt.

"But what?"

"But I did not force you to do anything.” His tormented gaze flickers around my stunned features. "You made those decisions yourself, Kiara. You chose to tell me about the bomb. You shot Andre on your own accord. I did not force your hand."

My mouth hangs open as I blink at him, disbelief gushing through my pores. "Didn't force my hand?! If I didn't meet you, then none of this would have happened! You were the catalyst! It started with you, Milo! You!"

"No, Kiara," he snakes his hands around my wrists, his grip gentle, tender, “It started with you."

No. He's wrong. It wasn't me. It wasn't.

"You had a bomb strapped to your fucking chest!" I writhe in his grasp. "What was I supposed to do? Not tell you?! Spend the rest of my life worrying, thinking I could have prevented a possible death?!"

"Why did you tell me?" The low tenor of his voice rattles my bones. "You could have stayed quiet. You could have called the police after I left. Yet, you told me. Why, Kiara?"

My heart seizes in my chest as I use all my strength to break my wrists free from his tightening grip.

"Because you were in trouble," I choke out, running both hands through my hair as I stumble away from him. "Because I wanted to help you, because?—"

"Exactly,” he whispers. “Because you are a good person, tesoro. You are a kind, caring woman who chose to help a monster like me. Because at that moment, you did not see a criminal, Kiara. You saw a human. And that is still what I am."

My lungs expand, our eyes intertwining into a complex labyrinth of craving, grief, confusion, fury, want.

Hesitation.

"You kill people…” I hold back tears, polarizing emotions battling in my weary brain. "How can you be human?"

"Because the people I kill, Kiara—" Milo stalks toward me, his chest rising as he stops mere inches away from my spent body. He palms my cheek, his thumb grazing my hairline. "They are the real monsters." He looks so sad, so fucking honest as he peers down at me. "If only you knew what kind of terrible people reside in our world, you would not be so quick to judge me for my actions."

Loaded silence hangs in the air as we stare at one another, our breathing shallow, uneven, fucking synchronized.

"Please do not hate me, tesoro.” He leans his forehead against mine as I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to respond to his plea. "I cannot stand your silence."

His touch affects me like a slow-burning affliction, an ailment, a malady. It makes me sick. Sick with thirst. Sick with hunger. And with his palm pressed against my cheek, with the heat from his strong hand emanating into my sensitive skin, seeping into my core—I'm starving.

I'm fucking famished.

It's wrong and immoral and twisted but I want him. I need him.

So fucking bad.

I need him to touch me, feel me, fuck me until I can't stand. Until I can't breathe. Until all the pain and anger and sorrow are replaced by him. All of him. Only him. Every fucking inch.

The real game is over. The war is over. I surrender. I lose. My king is down, trampled, destroyed. And I don't care anymore. There's no point.

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