Page 113 of Alik

My jaw hangs open and lungs seize at the figure in the doorway.

Creeper tilts one side of his lips in an evil sneer. “Did you cry like this for me?”

I drop the book and scoot backward until I hit the wall, which just makes Creeper laugh. “Oh,Olive. My nervous little wreck.” He crouches in front of me, his eyes wide with malicious delight. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to show your ugly fucking face? You spineless little cunt.”

“My dad is on his way up,” I say, pressing my knees to my chest. “If I were you, I’d run.”

He laughs. “Do you think I didn’t see Daddy? Better question, do you think I’mscaredof Daddy?” He runs his hand over my knee then jerks my leg to the side, opening me to him while I gasp.

“If I was afraid of your dad, I wouldn’t have spent so much time fucking his daughter.”

“Creeper, I?—”

“Shut your fucking whore mouth,” he says, his voice cryptically low as he raises his chin with a warning. “I was nice to you before,princess, when you were Damian’s bitch, but I’ve got new friends now.”

He reaches toward my mouth to slip his meaty fingers past my lips while I whine. He grips one of my side teeth and pushes so hard, a sharp pain shoots up my gum, followed by blood coating my tongue.

I let out a scream that he doesn’t seem to care to muffle as he leans in to my ear.

“And we’re gonna have somefun.”

29

ALIK

Whimpers.

Pleas.

They grate my ears and grind my teeth as I pop the trunk to Nikita’s Lincoln. I don’t even know who the man in the trunk is. Didn’t even research him, follow him, do the necessary work to prepare for a mark.

Normally, I hate being unprepared, but in this moment, I couldn’t care less who he is or what his life looks like. I was given a name and an address and picked him up with careless ease. I could’ve been spotted. Hell, I could’ve gotten the wrong guy.

And I still don’t care.

The man wiggles like a worm dangling in front of a hook as he cries through the tape over his mouth. I pull out my knife before ripping the bag off his head and putting the blade to his throat, leaning in close enough that I can smell his sweat.

“Shut thefuckup.”

His eyes are bugging from his skull, and the breaths he inhales through his nostrils are annoyingly loud, but his pleas cease.

Nikita comes around the car and places a hand on my shoulder. After I captured the mark, I transferred him to Nikita’scar which we then drove to the warehouse. “Manners, Alik.” There’s a sick satisfaction in Nikita’s voice that is more grating than the man’s whimpering.

I jerk away from Nikita’s touch and grasp the man, Cedric who-gives-a-shit, by his shirt to yank him up. Taking his shoulders, I haul him from the trunk then drop him onto the gravel lot. He groans, his eyes clenched as he shifts to work away the pain while I bend and slice the tape around his ankles, ignoring his protests when blood coats my knife.

“Get up,” I sneer, nudging his leg. When he hesitates, a jolt of frustration shoots down my spine, and I kick his ribs. “Get the fuck up!”

He whines like a dog, slowly shifting onto his knees. When he tries to stand, he falls, unable to use his tied hands to help his balance. It’s pathetic. I can’t fucking wait for his miserable life to end so I don’t have to see this.

I grab his shirt and yank him up when he goes to try a second time, then I shove him forward to start toward the door. When I leave here, I’m finished for the night, so I’m not sure why I’m in such a hurry.

I spend every second of my day angry, but when I get home, it’s the worst. The anger fades on the drive and turns into something I won’t put a name to. It makes my chest feel as if it’s going to collapse and tightens my muscles to the point I question if I’m made of metal.

I don’t eat. I don’t sleep.

I lay down on a fresh mattress far too soft and a blanket too warm in a new apartment on a better side of town. I lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling, wishing my mind would shut off. Wishing I’d no longer see her face while at the same time dreading that inevitable day. The day I put that second chair at my kitchen table on the curb. The day I throw this mattress outand replace it with something firm and undesirable, unfit for a woman’s company.

The day I quit hoping to see Olive Solace’s face again.

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