Page 4 of Cain
No. No, no, no, no, this isn’t happening again. I buried this shit. I buried it!
Didn’t I?
I need to stay the fuck calm. I need to pretend it’s not ripping through my skull.
No one can see what this is doing to me. No one.
I march outside the basement, heading to my driver as I’m finishing my smoke. On my way, Eleanor, my maid, holds out my black blazer.
“Good morning, Mr. Manson,” she chirps joyfully.
I slide into the blazer, take the last drag of my cigarette, and put it out in the glass ashtray in Eleanor’s hand. “Morning, Eleanor.”
I walk outside my front door, pass through half of the garden, and enter my Lamborghini SUV.
The driver doesn’t talk. He knows his job.
I rest my head back and close my eyes for some seconds before my hectic day as a businessman begins.
My mind fills with her presence yet again. Her smile. Her aura. Her existence.
Her light dissolves my unhinged thoughts. There’s no blood, no hate, no anger. Nohim. Just her.
My mind is dark. My life is messy and obscure, and no girl would willingly want to be a part of it. Not if they knew.
Unless she’s crazy—but I know crazy.
Katerina, however, is something else. She is the only ray of light in my obsidian soul. She is my Eden. My fucking peace.
Being around her is a dangerous game. Dangerous for everyone, but primarily for her.
I should stay away. I tell myself that every time I see her, every time I linger in the shadows, watching. It would be easier to convince myself to stop. If only I could ignore the pull or the way my muscles stiffen when she’s near.
But I can’t.
I always wondered what would happen if I touched her skin. If I tangled my fingers through her long, blonde hair. If her feline pale blue eyes stared back at mine, full of passion and lust. If I slid inside her and heard her moaning my name with pleasure. Felt her shivering with satisfaction.
How would this make me feel?
Would it be one more reason to deepen my obsession and fuel my passion for her?
I know I should keep my distance.
I know this only leads one way.
And yet, I keep finding my way back to her.
Closer.
More dangerous each time.
“Knock it off, Kryštof!” I bark at my phone.
What’s the worst thing about having a long-distance relationship? Arguing while looking at your phone screen like an idiot.
“Knock it off? What kind of language is this?” he snarls, turning red as the tousled blond curls on top of his head jiggle around his forehead. “What does this even mean?”
I sigh. “It means that you’re being pushy. You know I came to the US to pursue my career.”
