Page 24 of Ruthless Kings of Havoc

“A spider.”

“A spider.”

“Creating your webs in the silence and shadows, waiting for the right moment for your prey to run right into your web,” I decipher while I envision the image in the depths of my mind. “Let them walk into their own demise.” I search his magnificent eyes.

“That’s what you seek for Domino. In fact, for anyone who dares seek to destroy the life you’ve made every effort to keep it in your maddened way of perfection. Am I right?”

“I don’t like that you are,” he confesses and shows his dismay, but I can tell he isn’t mad. He simply realizes I can read him just as well as he can read me.

Because we’re both allowing it.

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t despise Bunny Stalker for triggering all this madness?” He offers while I ponder what he means by that. “Don’t answer that.”

“I never said you can’t despise him,” I note instead. “I just think you two can be far more similar than you’d admit.”

“Your ability to observe shit with very little information makes me question if you’re not some sexy spy.”

“So I’m sexy,” I tease and blush when I feel his cock twitch deep inside. “Z-Zander.”

“Ugh, you’re annoying!”

“I’m annoying?” I gasp, only to shriek when he flips me on top of him.

“If I told you my past hobby was being a serial killer, would you run for the hills?”

“If I told you I believed you, would you still let me run for the hills?”

He’s smirking.

“I would,” he confesses. “But you know damn well I’d catch up to you.”

“And would you kill me?”

He admires me as he further relaxes against the sheets beneath him.

Proving he’s letting his guard down for me.

“No.”

“What if I was a serial killer, too?”

“Could you explain why you caught my knife?”

“Fun.” I hum while my fingers lay upon his chiseled chest, admiring how fit he is.He hides his muscles so fucking well.“What do you wish to say, Zayn?” I avoid his gaze because I know all this delay isn’t to give him a chance to get hard again.

He’s aroused, especially with that conversation, but he’s stalling. This isn’t just because of his fears or my need to recover. There’s something else.

“I have a dirty little secret,” he whispers.

“That’s not me?” I huff. “I’m appalled.”

“Dolcezza.”

This eye contact is raw. Intense.Real.

“Zayn. We all have dirty little secrets.” I get to the point and don’t look away. He needs to see how serious I am, despite how tendrils of fear attempt to make me feel like a weakling. “None of us are saints. We’re born into a life of sin, and we’re forced into cycles that can’t be broken simply with a snap of one’s fingers.” Iclose my eyes for a moment so I can say my next words as clearly as I can muster.

To project the confidence I need for this conversation, then show a glimpse of weakness.

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