Page 17 of Pray for Scars
“I didn’t pay you,” he reminds me. “How much do I owe you?”
I open my eyes. He’s still not looking at me. I’m not stupid enough to ask him to let me go. I know he won’t. But there are other ways to get him close. I’m familiar with those, comfortable with them even. People look down on women for using their bodies as weapons. They never look down on men for pulling the trigger.
“You don’t,” I reply, keeping my tone casual. “Fuck, if you want…” I trail off, and slowly, he turns to face me again, his brows narrowed. I shrug, the chains clinking together. “You were good.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip, bite it softly. “Do it again.”
I hold his stare.
“I’m not letting you out of those chains, Angel,” he says quietly, still watching me.
“I know.”
He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes trailing over my t-shirt—two sizes too big, and Lucifer’s—and my sweats, also Lucifer’s, black too, barely hanging onto my hips.
He looks away, stands to his feet, runs his palms over his jeans, his back to me. He shakes his head, blows out a breath, and then turns to face me, a smile on his golden skin.
He takes a step toward me, locking his gaze on mine.
He keeps coming, until he’s at the head of the bed. “The 6 will kill you, you know,” he says softly, his eyes roaming over my body. He sighs. “It’s a fucking shame you’ve got so much blood on your hands.”
He says the words so gently that they somehow scare me more. And something rings in them. Something that sounds liketruth.The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and when he crosses his arms over his chest, pulls his shirt off, and I see his tattooed chest, his abs, the deep V at his hips, I know I’ve made a stupid fucking mistake.
His shirt drops to the floor. He runs his tongue over his lips, meets my gaze.
“You didn’t think I’d do it, did you, Angel?”
No, I guess I didn’t.
But even still, I spread my legs wider, let him see my eyes dance over his skin, taking in every muscle, every tattoo, every line of his beautiful body.
He’s lean, like Lucifer. Tall like him.
I can pretend.
He smiles, slowly shaking his head. Then he leans closer, his hands going to the elastic of my borrowed sweats. He pulls them off easily, his eyes trail over my pale legs as he does, letting my pants fall to the floor by his shirt.
I glance down at my underwear, relieved I’m still in the black lace ones I wore when I thought Jeremiah was going to be Michael.
Mayhem crawls onto the bed, slides me down by my calves so I’m on my back. He settles himself over my hips, his hands on my bare waist.
“I saw him,” he says to me, his fingers digging into my skin. He cocks his head. “I saw your brother go into your hotel.”
My heart skips a beat and I tense underneath him. I don’t know if he’s telling me the truth. Something about the way he says the words, like he’s spinning a story…like he’s full of shit.
He leans down, hovering over me, his mouth just above mine. He pushes his hard cock against my stomach and smiles.
“What did he do to you, little Sid Rain?” His baby blue eyes are lit with amusement, as if this is a game.
It is, I realize.
It is.
This close to him, I see rings of silver around his pupils. I never noticed them before.
“What did your brother do to you?” One hand goes to my throat, trailing gently over my skin. I swallow, and he feels it, his smile widening. He nuzzles his face against my neck, and I tip my head up, closing my eyes.
His fingers tighten around my throat.
“Tell me, Angel.” He takes a deep breath, presses himself further into me, and my legs make more room for him, almost instinctively. “Tell me what he did. I promise between me and Lucifer, Jeremiah Rain will never lay another hand on you again. I promise, if he did something to you…if he’s the reason you’re like this…”
