Page 58 of The Phantom's Vice

A growl sounds low in my chest, and I take a step forward so I’m situated between her thighs. My palm works its way around her throat, and a gasp pours from Brett’s mouth when I give a little squeeze.

“Nevertalk bad about yourself in my presence. Are we clear?”

Brett blinks, her face purpling slightly as her oxygen is cut off. Her mouth parts, and her lips move into ayes,quelling some of the rage burning in my lungs. I release her, stretching my hand out at my side as Brett heaves in gulping breaths.

“Jesus. I thought you were supposed to be nice to me on my period.”

“Oh, darling,” I whisper, my hands trailing down to the waistband of her pants. “I’mnevernice.” I rip her pants from her, smiling as theripof fabric echoes off the tiled walls.

Brett gasps, looking down at her bare thighs. Streaks of red mar her beautiful skin, covering most of her inner thighs. I take a deep breath, my pupils blowing as the metallic scent of Brett invades my senses. Fighting the animalistic desires, I peel off her lacy black thong, then place her gently into the tub.

Brett lets out a satisfied sigh as the water envelops her, easing her muscles and hopefully taking away some of that pain pinched between her brows. Her blood mixes with the water, turning it a pale shade of yellow, and I watch Brett’s cheeks slowly change color.

“Sorry, I?—”

A growl tumbles from my lips, and Brett’s words cut off, her thighs squirming together uncomfortably. “Right. Never mind.”

“Good girl,” I murmur, placing a kiss on top of her head as I get up to grab a washcloth. When I crouch at her side again, I fist my glovedhand at the back of her head, lowering her delicately into the water.

“Ghost, what are you?—”

“Shh. This will feel good,” I murmur, letting her back up and squeezing a good amount of shampoo into my hand. Brett looks over at me, seemingly confused by something.

“Why don’t you take your gloves off? It can’t feel good to wear soaking wet gloves all day.”

I shrug, working the shampoo into Brett’s scalp. Her eyes close, and she lets out a little moan when I work my way around to her temples, and my heart leaps with joy.Imade that noise.Imade her feel good.

“Well?”

I jerk, nearly having forgotten she asked me a question. I guess a shrug didn’t suffice. “I cannot feel it, but you are right—it is not good for my skin to sit in wet gloves all day. But I would rather do it this way—for your comfort.”

“My comfort?”

“Yes,” I say, lowering her head back into the water to rinse away the shampoo. The black tendrils splay out like I dumped a bottle of ink into the water, and I’m caught off guard by how beautiful it looks like this.I don’t think there’s a single thing abouther that I won’t find enchanting.“My skin is… unseemly. I do not wish for you to feel it against yours.”

Brett hangs her head back, those ocean eyes staring directly into my soul. “Show them to me.”

I shake my head, reaching for the bottle of conditioner. Brett grabs my arm, stopping me with a glare. “This is ridiculous. Just take your damn gloves off.”

“No.”

Brett sighs, rolling her eyes. “Fucking men, I swear.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re stubborn. And slightly stupid.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and my heart falls when I can’t look at her any longer.

“If I take my gloves off… will you stop sitting like that?” I ask, slightly desperate.

“Like what?” She looks down at her arms, and her mouth pops. “Oh. Um, yes. Butonlyif you take your gloves off.” To drive her point home, she squeezes her arms tighter around her.

I sigh, rinsing the leather off in the water before removing them. I look down at the raw, mutilated flesh, my stomach turning. I look away, reaching for the bottle of conditioner blindly. Again, Brett grabsmy arm to stop me. Only this time, she brings my hand closer to her face.

I flinch, my heart beating erratically.She’ll take one look at you and scream. Or better yet, shoot you in the fucking face.I guess I should be thankful there are no weapons in the bathroom.

Brett inspects my hand with a curious gaze, twisting and turning the appendage as if she’s looking at a rare jewel and not some massacred hand. Then—oh God—she presses her lips to my knuckle.

ZAP!

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