Page 66 of Reckless Promises

There’s no way I can get into bed like this.

Turning on the shower, I walk back over to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I search for the pieces that are missing. Holes carved out each time I’ve taken a life.

I stopped counting after a while because there was no point.

My father handed me my first blade when I was ten, bringing me down to the basement and forcing me to use it. He refused to tell me why or what the man had done. And to this day, I still don’t know if he actually deserved it.

Even when I took over the family throne, I didn’t try to look into it. It didn’t matter. That moment irrevocably changed something inside me, and knowing the truth wouldn’t take it back.

After that, Dad continued slowly desensitizing me. Every few months he’d bring me down to the basement. Sometimes Shane was with us, sometimes he wasn’t. We’d watch or help. It depended on the person and my father’s mood.

He passed his violence down to us like his father did to him. Like it was tradition.

I told myself as I got older that I would be better than that. I would only kill for a reason—only if I was protecting someone. I told myself I’d only hurt people who deserved it.

A lie I repeated enough times I actually started to believe it.

But there’s no escape when you’ve gutted your soul. Punched so many holes you don’tknow what’s right or wrong. Worse, you don’t care. I am this man now, and I’ll go to extreme measures.

For Odette.

For my family.

Movement behind me catches my attention, and I glance through the mirror to find Odette standing in the doorway to the bathroom staring at me. Her nightgown is crumpled, and her hair is messy from sex and sleep—but those eyes of hers are wide awake as they rove over the blood.

“Cillian?” Her eyebrows pinch as she looks me over.

Steam from the shower fills the room, and her hair curls at the ends with it.

I expect her to run in fear. Instead, she walks toward me.

Desensitization.

I get the feeling I’m not the only one of us who’s numb to this.

Odette pauses at my side, and I turn to face her. Big green eyes stare up at me, as bright as her emerald wedding ring sitting on the counter.

Once more she glances down at the blood splatter on my shirt—my jeans. She chews the inside of her cheek and takes it all in—pausing on the largest blood pool in the center of my shirt, where I absentmindedly wiped the blade clean between cuts.

She told me when she first came here she doesn’t wear white because all our hands are stained with blood. And she’s not wrong. But I’ll make it my goal to make sure I keep hers clean.

“It was him at the party tonight, wasn’t it?” Her gaze flicks back up to me.

“Yes.”

She searches my eyes, and I don’t know if she wants an explanation, but she’s not going to get it. His blood is enough to tell her everything she needs to know. That there are no lengths I won’t go to for her.

Odette nods, slowly—barely. She doesn’t break my stare as she takes a step closer. And her delicate hands find the bottom of my shirt as she slowly tugs to peel it off.

“Are you hurt?” She searches my bare chest for cuts, but she won’t find any.

“No.”

Her fingers slip to my jeans, and she undoes them, slowly undressing me like her fingers aren’t now smeared in blood.

She drops to her knees to peel my pants off me, and my erection comes to life at the sight of her. Something she doesn’t miss as she slowly stands up and drags her nightgown over her head.

Odette is a work of art. Perfection in the flesh. Her small tits fit perfectly in my hands, and her thighs are so soft I want to live between them. Stepping to me, my hard cock presses against her belly and it’s enough to almost make me come all over her stomach.

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