Page 71 of Wild Angel

“I want to know.”

“And whatever you want, you get, right?” She rolls her eyes at me. “Maybe it’s time someone taught you that the world doesn’t fucking revolve around Caesar goddamn—”

She cuts off when I kiss her.

I should have taken out my dick and fucked her, but I don’t know if that would have done such a good job of shutting her up. So I kiss her until she’s moaning against my mouth, and her hands are on my jeans trying to pull down my zipper.

Then I step back, release her.

She sags against the glass doors, watching me, silent.

I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I’m ready now.

“I was a teenager when my mother died.” The words leave me in a rush, and I try to push them out even faster so I don’t lose my fucking nerve. “That was back when the cartels were still fighting over territory.”

Nyx bends, picks up her towel. Wraps it around her. “I kinda figured,” she says, callous. “Didn’t exactly see mention of Mrs. Domingo anywhere on the Internet.”

There’s an obstruction in my throat, but I force my words past it. “The Bogota came into our house. We still lived in the suburbs back then. Keeping a low profile.”

Nyx steps past me, takes my toothbrush, shoves it into her mouth. She watches me in the mirror but doesn’t say anything.

I don’t know if that’s better or worse. But somehow I manage to continue.

“Me and my dad managed to get out. She didn’t.”

Nyx’s hand pauses, but then she starts brushing again, looking away from me.

“They put so many bullets in her, she didn’t look human anymore.”

I see Nyx’s throat move, and a second later she bends over the sink and spits. “Why are you telling me this?” she asks, her voice echoing in the basin as she keeps her head down.

“Because I’ve never told anyone.” My voice is too thick—I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. “But I want to tell you.”

She straightens, turns, regards me with utter suspicion. “Just so I’ll tell you about this?” She places a hand over the towel where her scar is. “I couldn’t care less what happened to your mother.”

I would have believed her, had her eyes not been a touch darker than before. Had her mouth not been as tight.

I’ve known her less than a month, but I’ve learned so much about her already. I can’t read her as well as I can many of the people around me…but I know when she’s happy. When she’s sad. Scared, angry, spiteful.

There was fear in her eyes last night. She was terrified of me. Not the savage. Not the monster. Of theman.

She’s a hunter. Her prey doesn’t frighten her. But her partners do.

It can’t be a coincidence that the second I touched that scar last night, she recoiled from me like I was a fucking viper. I didn’t even think she’d feel that light touch, but it sent her into a frenzy. And that made me so angry, I left a bruise there, just for the hell of it.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised revealing one sad fact from my past would be enough to unlock the enigma that is Nyx Gray.

“Then whatdoyou care about? What do you want to know about me?” I take hold of her wrists, holding her gently, pulling her close to me. “Ask me anything, Angel.”

She stares up at me, perplexed, frustrated. Her throat moves as she swallows, and then her lips part. I want to kiss her again, but I hold back. I want to lift her onto the counter and wrap her legs around me, push into her heat, but I make myself simply hold her…and wait.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

As soon as she says it, I know it’s the only thing she could possibly want to know. That’s how she classifies the people she meets, isn’t it? Good versus evil. Angels versus demons.

Does that mean she’s still trying to decide where I land on the spectrum? Or is she trying to tip me into the red, giving her an excuse to hate me even more?

My mouth is going dry, but I force out a pathetic, “You don’t want to know what—”

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