Page 9 of Kiss the Villain

“It looks like you despise my wording.” A smile slips into his tone and I find something else I hate.

The deep rumble in his voice. The dispassionate, neutral, and absolutely monotonous way he speaks, as if he can’t be bothered to inject any emotions into it.

It rings again as his breath skims my mouth. “But I wouldn’t have used it if it weren’t true.”

I stare at him like he’s a robot—and maybe he is.

“Allow me to elaborate. You came here with a vile plan up your sleeve. It started with drugging Yulian’s drink and patiently waiting for him to break away from the others. I waited to see what you intended to do with him, but you stopped midway. So the suspense is killing me.”

I start to lift my thumb to my mouth, then allow my hand to remain down.

He’s beenwatchingme.

While I was focused on Yulian, this fucking asshole was watchingme.

The audacity to stalk the stalker.

The damn fuckingnerve.

“Are you one of his guards?” I speak for the first time tonight. “You don’t sound Russian.”

Most of Yulian’s guards, like ours, are supplied by the Russian mafia and usually have a very thick accent.

He doesn’t.

If anything, he’s more refined and has a slow, precise way of speaking. He also sounds and seems older than me, so he could be a retired military member turned security guard. Though his speech is a bit too sophisticated for someone with a stereotypical military background.

“Why?” That mocking edge returns to his voice. “You prefer Russians?”

“I prefer to leave if you don’t mind.” I smile, putting my charming persona on display, along with my seemingly irresistible dimples.

It doesn’t affect the prick whatsoever. There’s no loosening of his gun nor any change in those unsightly dead eyes of his.

He cocks his head to the side, leaning so close that my nostrils flood with his revolting male scent, like amber with a hint of something woodsy. “Not before you tell me what you had in mind for Yulian.”

“Just some harmless fun.”

“No harmless fun includes drugging and cutting clothes.” His gun digs harder into my skin, the pain making me grind my teeth. “You know what I think?”

“Not interested. Thanks.”

He ignores my words and steps into my space. “I think you planned something disgusting.”

I peer down and pause. He’s half naked. He must’ve discarded the tatters of his shirt and is now only wearing black slacks. He’s tall with a couple inches on me and definitely broader. The snake looks menacing coupled with his mask, and I want to unmask him, too. To see the face of the man who dares to huntme.

“Something that fits that grotesque personality of yours,” he continues, shoving his gun against my mouth.

I let my lips fall open so that he doesn’t break my teeth, all the while considering if my plan to die at sixty is that important, because I’m starting to think being shot would be worth it if I get to punch this motherfucker who called me grotesque.

Twice.

The muzzle of the gun rests against my tongue and he rams it farther until it slams against the back of my throat, and I stay calm as my breath is confiscated.

The surest way to start choking? Losing your cool—which is something foreign to me. It’s not even a thing I can pretend or mask.

“No gag reflex. Interesting.” His rough voice smothers the ringing in my ears.

And then something strange happens.

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