Page 51 of The Colour of Revenge
My father clears his throat, his expression carefully guarded. "This... woman," he begins, his words slow and deliberate, "is she appropriate for an event of this magnitude?"
I can't stop my simpering grin. If only he knew. "She's perfect."
My mind flashes to her now—her sharp wit, how her lips curl when she's amused, the fire that burns behind her eyes when she's angry or determined. She's unlike anyone I've ever met. Carina is fire wrapped in beauty.
I can't get enough of her.
"What's her name?" my father demands, breaking me from my thoughts.
I hesitate momentarily, savouring how her name feels on my tongue. "Carina."
He frowns, clearly unimpressed. "Fine. But don't embarrass the family, Nate. This merger is crucial."
I wave him off, calculating how I will convince Carina to come.
As my father leaves the room, I pull out my phone, thumbing through our messages. There's one from last night.
Queen Carina: What do you think? Sharp enough?
She'd sent a picture of the knife she'd just cleaned—casual, as if she were discussing dinner plans.
Daddy Death: Sharp enough to cut through bone, maybe. What's it for?
Queen Carina: Research ;)
I grin, texting her quickly.
Daddy Death: Want to crash a party with me? SG will be there.
Her reply comes almost instantly.
Queen Carina: Do I get to bring my knives?
Daddy Death: Only if you promise to behave.
Queen Carina: No promises.
Saturday night rolls around, and it's time for the merger party. Or is it a murder party? I get confused.
I pull outside Carina's place and hurry toward her door, feeling absurdly eager. Like a dog that's just been released from the kennel and knows it's about to be reunited with its owner. Let's hope I don't start jumping on her. Though maybe I'll pee on her. You know, mark my territory.
The door swings open, and my mind empties.
Fuck. Me.
Her dress is the same pink shade as her hair—a light pastel colour that makes her look far more innocent than she is. It hugs her breasts, dipping down into a low V at the centre, giving me a front-row seat to her cleavage. It continues down, flat against her hips, then flares out towards the bottom where it rests just above the ground, a high slit up her thigh teasing the hell out of me.
My thoughts derail completely.
Why are we leaving this house?
She's got her hair in some updo, in a loose bun at the back of her head, wispy bits of hair framing her perfect face. It looks effortless, but I bet it took forty-five minutes and an existential crisis to get right.
This is almost as hot as seeing her covered in blood after a good murder. Almost. But… not quite.
There's something about Carina fresh from a kill—breathless, wild-eyed, drenched in someone else's life.
Gets my dick stirring every time.
