Page 27 of Make Me Bleed
“This isn’t…” He tries, seeming to struggle over his words, his pouty lips pursed as his brows draw together, and I drag my forehead across his with a hiss, feeling the beat of my heart chugging away in my throat, choking me with each breath I’m forced to take.
“Shut the fuck up,” I rasp, unable to fathom the fact I can even speak right now.
“Okay.”
He doesn’t argue, and I hate that, too.
“Who even are you?” I ask as I pull away, keeping him at arm’s length. The boy in front of me is no longer a boy, but a man. A man I didn’t get to watch him turn into. Because he left before I got the chance.
“I am who I’ve always been,” he says softly, eyes wide and searching as he lets me look him over, and some part of me believes that,achesto believe it, but how can I when all he’s ever done is cheat and lie and manipulate for his own gain?
I pull back and shake my head, trying to clear it of the fog he puts over me. “Let’s go.” I reach down and grab his wrist once more and tug him the rest of the way to the room. I dig around in my pocket for the key and wave it in front of the door, breathingout when the light turns green and the handle turns to allow us entry.
It seems like dangerous territory being alone in a room with Abel Silver after all these years, but I’ve always been a bit fucking mad when it comes to him.
“You look good in a suit,” Abel says after a minute, and I snort, shaking my head. My hair brushes across my forehead, thick and wavy and dirty with sweat from the game. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, refusing to meet his eyes as I stomp to the mini fridge and yank it open. There are a handful of mini bottles, so I pull them all out and set them on the countertop and pop the top on two without looking to see what they are and chug them both back to back, needing the burn in my throat and in my gut to keep me moving forward with this because what the fuck am I doing?
Slamming them back down, I blow out a breath and roll my neck around my shoulders, keeping my eyes closed because I feelhiseyes on me. Piercing me,perceivingme like fucking always, and it’s making my skin crawl.
I grab another shooter and down that one, too.
“Need to be drunk to fuck me?” Abel asks bluntly, and I choke on nothing. White spots dance in front of my eyes as I cough, beating my hand against my chest a few times to clear the burn. The implication of his words sits like a ton of bricks on my chest, andI can’t breathe.
“Who the fuck said I was going to fuck you?” I ask after finally catching my breath.
“Well, you did bring me up here, P—” he cuts himself off when I shoot him a glare. I don’t know why, but I just can’t stomach my name falling from those lips. Those perfectly pink, full lips, saying my name so perfectly all over again… I can’t stand it.
“Yeah, I did.” I say, dragging my hand through my hair and yanking on the strands.Why did I do that again? What the fuck is wrong with me? What am I doing?
My mind is whirring a million miles a minute.
Abel’s here.
He’s real.
He’s standing right in front of me, looking at me with expectant eyes, and I’m just standing here looking fucking stupid.
“I like your tattoos,” he says, stunning me stupidagain.
“What?” I ask, confused, as I stare at him, brows furrowed in muddled anger.
“Your tattoos…” he says softly as he takes a step toward me, arm outstretched. I watch, breath caught in my throat as he drags the tips of his long fingers along the skulls in my inner forearm. “I never thought I’d see the day Peris Baxter would be covered in ink. And pierced,” he adds with a small smirk. “And yet, here you are. Sexier than ever.” He looks up at me through darkened lashes with a smirk so coyish, my cock gives an almighty jerk.
I suck in a breath and nearly groan out loud. I reach down and grab Abel’s arm, wrapping my own fingers around him and clamping down tightly, leaving my own bruises because I can’t fucking stand him and what he’s doing to me.
“Don’t fuck with me, runt,” I spit out through clenched teeth.
Abel gasps, and it’sbeautiful.“Oh.”
“You have no idea who the fuck I am anymore,” I stab the words between us, hoping they land where I’m aiming—right at his fucking heart… if he even has one.
My mind is swimming from the alcohol… or maybe from the reality of the situation I’ve found myself in. I can’t really tell. It’s all so surreal, and I don’t know if I want to wake up or not.
I don’t think so.
But maybe I should because it feels like this is gonna fucking kill me.
