Page 7 of Tempted to Rebel

She blushes like a fucking schoolgirl, and I hate how much I enjoy it.

“It was good with him, too.”

“That why you tried to kill him?” Shaking my head, I can’t help but laugh. “It was so good, you had to strangle him? Or what, you’d fall in love?” I wish I had another bottle to throw back. In fact—I do. Sliding off the bed, I shuffle into the kitchen and grab an unopened bottle from the cabinet. Cracking the top, I take a swig of vodka and hop up onto the island, sloshing a little liquid past the rim. It drips onto my jeans, staining them black, and I itch to take them off. I’m rarely dressed while home, so this is a rare exception on account of how fucked up everything is. I stare at Celia as the burn settles in the back of my throat, the heat quickly fading into a drunken numbness. “Nothing to say?” A bitter chuckle catches in my chest, and I scratch it again, my fingers catching on the silver chain and every single one of those keys.

Celia turns to face me and crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want me to say? That I regret it?”

I lift an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Her eyes narrow. “No.”

I tilt the bottle back and swallow as much as I can without throwing it all back up. My eyes water, my chest burns, and goddamn it all, I just want to feelbetter.I gasp for air once I’ve killed half the bottle, then slam it down on the granite countertop with a heavyclinkof glass on stone.

Celia pretends to be unaffected by either our conversation or my drinking, but I can see through her mask as if it were made of glass.

“Something on your mind, baby?” I lick the vodka from my lips and hold the bottle out toward her. “Want a little liquid courage to make this easier?”

“Nothing about this is easy,” she mutters, frowning.

I gesture broadly, throwing my arms out beside me. “Hence the alcohol.” Hopping down from the counter, I cross the short distance to the cage and slip the neck of the bottle through the bars, high over her head. “Open up.”

To my surprise, the tilts her head back and pops open her mouth, allowing me to pour vodka past her lips. She swallows as best she can without choking, but a trickle slips down her chin and drips into her chest.

I’m still staring at those soft, pillowy tits when she reaches her fingertips through the cage and wraps them around mine. I barely notice, suddenly too caught up in the warm depths of her eyes. They aren’t brown, not really. They’re hazel, shifting colors depending on the slant of light.

Her voice ghosts across my skin like a lover’s caress. “Why are you mad at me, baby?”

A shiver runs down my spine.Icall her baby—not the other way around. We’re crossing into new territory, talking like this with each other. I shouldn’t let it happen. I should back the fuck up and lock myself in my room—except, I took my door off its hinges after Rage unkindly barred me inside, so I literally can’t escape from her. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

I press my forehead against the cold bars of cage and close my eyes. “You know why.”

She exhales, our breath mingling. “I wasn’t running fromyou, Rebel. I was running fromthis.” She taps the gold bars with her fingertips. “Do you really think this is what I want? To be nothing more than a possession?”

My chest tightens. I’m not sure that I want that, either, but I don’t have a choice. “Thisisme,krosotka.” The Russian nickname falls from my lips before I can stop it, reminding me of how this all began.

One little dance turned into so much more.

“It’s not you,” Celia insists. She struggles to hold onto my hand, her fingertips slipping from mine every few seconds. “This is Rage’s doing. You wouldn’t lock me up like this.”

I tear my body away from hers, breathing hard as I fight her siren’s call. Sweet words and an even sweeter voice, but I can’t trust her after what she’s done. “Not everything is about Rage.” I swallow more vodka and wipe my mouth on my forearm. “Until you learn that,this—” I gesture between us—“goes nowhere.” I carry the vodka back to my bedroom and strip, not caring if she watches me get naked. I’m not doing it for her. I need some goddamn air.

Flopping onto my bed and kicking all of the blankets to the floor, I turn my music back on and drown out the noise.

The kick drum beat of my heart.

The echo of her voice in my head.

The whisper-sweet way she calls mebaby.

Chapter 3

Rage

My daily taskstake fucking forever. In five hours, I’ve settled one territory dispute, kicked the shit out of some lowlife who tried to stiff us for S-tier product, and completed a hefty perimeter check of the Baranova compound and its surrounding territory at Ezra’s direct request. Thanatos meets me at the gates on my way back around to the front of the main house, looking grim as hell and like he needs at least one week’s worth of sleep. I wasn’t there when he dropped off Celia this morning, and now I’m glad for it.

For once, he actually looks his age.

Instead of greeting me, he gets right to business. “We’re upping security all over the city,” Thanatos says, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Two more women have gone missing, and another body showed up on the beach.”

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