Page 61 of Monster
“I made my shot, so answer,” she demands me as she puts her right hand on her hip. Blood drips down her arm, creating somewhat of a bloody masterpiece. Scars and blood—my favorite. She doesn’t pay it any mind as she rests her other hand on the ledge of the table. Her entire stance screams attitude, and my dick jumps in my jeans. I fucking love her feistiness as much as I loathe it.
“Rules are rules, aren’t they?” I ponder. “All right. I chose songs which have significance to me.” I shrug, not meeting her gaze. I feel slightly vulnerable admitting it and I fucking hate it, but she isn’t getting more than that. I answered honestly.
“You know what? It’s kinda quiet in here. Let me turn on some music.” I walk over to the side table next to the chair in the center of the room and grab the remote. I push play and “Porn Star Dancing” by My Darkest Days blares through the speakers, and I flick my gaze over to Essa. She’s practically seething as the music floods the room.
“Too soon?” I ask her as I chuckle to myself. I hit the skip button and “Pain” by Three Days Grace begins. I set the remote back down and saunter back over to the table. Essa shoots as I walk up to the table and scratches, so it’s my turn. But first…
As I walk up to her, she automatically holds her arm out for me. I chuckle as I grasp it. “Eager much, baby doll?” She clenches her jaw but doesn’t say anything as I slice her skin open again, directly under the previous one. I squeeze her arm brutally as I force myself to resist the temptation of her blood.
Maybe this game wasn’t such a good idea.
I drop her arm suddenly and it hits her leg as it falls. I step away from her and will myself to fight it. To fight her and her fucking pull over me.
Putting the game back in the forefront of my mind—reminding myself I’m doing this for a reason—I glance around at the balls, looking for a shot. I lean down and let the music flow through me. I squint my eyes briefly and notice there is the perfect set up for a combo shot and I smirk as I line up my stick with the cue ball. I smack it and watch as the eleven and thirteen sink into a pocket.
“Two means two questions, baby doll,” I inform her. I place both of my palms on the table and lean forward. My eyes are locked on the table, but I slowly lift my head to gaze at Essa. She’s standing at the opposite end of the table, fidgeting with her stick. I wait a minute and stare at her.
How the fuck did we get here?
I narrow my eyes as I shake off the question and the pain it brings.
“What did Benjamin do to you?” I ask, going right in for the fucking kill. Her entire body locks up. Her already pale skin turns a sickly shade of white and her knuckles blanch from the pressure of her grip on her cue stick. My eyes want to drop to her bloody arm, but I fight the urge and keep them locked on her face. Her pale green eyes meet mine and they harden with each second that passes.
She quietly leans her stick against the side of the table and her hands automatically ball into fists. I know she’s digging her nails into her palms to center herself. I know this because I know her. I may not know her entire past or who she used to be, but I do know who she is now. Or at least, I would like to think I do, but the shit she pulled has me questioning everything I thought I knew. Not only about her, but about us—if we were even an us.
I roll my eyes at her anger as she walks toward me. Neither one of us says a word as she steps right up to me, her body pressing against mine. Her head is right below my chin, and we look ridiculous standing like this, but I fucking love it. My size, especially compared to hers, makes me feel powerful. In control. But I think she and I both know her tiny five foot six self holds a lot more fucking power… over me.
She tilts her head back just enough to be able to look me in the eyes. Some of her long, black hair falls from her shoulders and sways behind her and I’m rapt. The movement hypnotizes me, and I want nothing more than to wrap her hair around my fist and pull her to her fucking knees. Tomakeher submit to me.
A hard, stinging slap across my face snaps me out of my trance and my very first instinct is to react. I shoot my arm out and wrap my fingers around the throat of theverystupid girl who just hit me. With my hand tightening around her, I step forward as she scrambles back, trying to get away from me. She tries to loosen my grip, but it’s futile.
I’m most definitely not the same man she left for dead six months ago. I may be fucking obsessed with her—that, I can acknowledge—and I may need to have her with me, but that sure as fuck doesn’t mean she’s going to be the same reckless little bitch she used to be.
She told me one day, back in the beginning of whatever the fuck it was we started, that she loved wolves. She craved the freedom they had. Their loyalty.
But she’s about to see a wolf’s first instinct.
To hunt and kill their fucking prey.
