Page 67 of Into the Blue
A queen.
My fucking queen.
I keep thinking about her resilience and her strength.
Then my thoughts stray to her lips and the way she said my name like it didn’t belong to a monster.
What she doesn’t know is that I would be a monster to keep her safe. I would do anything so that she doesn’t experience the pain she already has because of my name.
Yeah.
I’m in deep.
And fuck it. It was about time that I found somebody who could handle me.
Anything I give, she takes.
My knife, my fingers, my dick. She’ll take it all and look fucking good with something smart on her lips.
So here I am. Taking the steps two at a time, nodding to my men at the front door, and stepping inside. I’ve been chasing this moment for miles. I got my ass back to Clayton Terrace as fast as I could just so I could seeher. It’s almost one in the morning, but what do I care? Being here is the objective.
The TV’s off.
No music.
The house is quiet, save for the ticking clock I pass by in the hall.
I head toward the back, expecting to find her curled on the couch on her phone still or maybe sleeping. She’s gotten very comfortable with the sitting room in the back. I know Indica and Sativa scare her a little still, but it’s easy to forget they’re there at night.
As I pass the hallway, I hear something.
A faint rustle.
It’s coming from my office.
I freeze.
That door was shut when I left—and locked.
I move slowly, silently.
Hand on the doorknob and it opens with no resistance.
There she is.
My voice comes out low and steady despite the myriad of emotions I’m feeling right now. “The fuck you doing?”
Racquelle, in my chair with my laptop open. One of my black books in her hand, the one that doesn’t get shared or stored digitally. Her eyes snap up when I enter, wide with a guilt I haven’t seen on her before.
The kind that’s not from being caught in a mess—but fromcreatingone.
She bolts up so fast, the chair wheels squeal behind her. “Milo—wait—”
Something stirs in me. A feral feeling that rises in intensity along with the quickening breaths in her chest. “No.” I hold a hand up. “Don’t start lyin’. Not yet. Want to enjoy the truth of this moment for another ten seconds.”
Her lips part, ready to spit something out, but she closes them again. Her hand releases the book like it’s burned her. The sound echoing in the office that’s thick with tension.
I step inside, close the door behind me. It clicks with something final I don’t want to name. “Want to tell me why you’re going through my shit in the middle of the night, in a room you’re not supposed to be in?”
