Page 37 of Pray for Scars
And then the pool flips upside down as he tosses me over his shoulder, stalks to the pool stairs and climbs out, water dripping from both of us. I’ve got a nice view of his ass, his black trunks clinging to his sculpted muscles, but I realize everyone else has a good view ofmyass.
Until they don’t.
Because he places his hand over me, blocking what he can.
“Find something else to do with your eyes before I gouge them out,” he snarls at someone. And then we’re walking into the house, water dripping everywhere.
He puts me down in the kitchen, pushes me against the counter, his hands planted on either side of me.
“What was that?” he demands, water trailing down his perfect face, those sculpted cheekbones, his thick, black lashes. The vein in his neck is straining against his skin, and I can’t look away from his shoulders for a second.
“Sid,” he hisses, “look at me.”
I do. And then I remember why the fuck I’m pissed off at this beautiful boy. I fold my arms to cover my chest, even though his eyes haven’t left mine. I’m not even sure if I affect him at all, or if he just wants to win a pissing match with London.
“You fucked her.”
A smile kicks up at the corner of his lips. “And?”
My face heats and my nails dig into my arms. He won’t even fucking deny it. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to think with him so close to me. “And nothing. I was having fun.”
He steps closer, so his chest is brushing against me. I have nowhere to go, the counter digging into my back, but I open my eyes, meet his dark blue gaze. I shiver, hugging myself tighter for warmth. I need a towel.
I need to get the hell out of here.
“I waited a year for you, Lilith,” he purrs, leaning his head down until we’re eye-level. “A whole goddamn year.” He shakes his head. “But you’ll be dead soon, and what am I supposed to do then, baby girl? Fuck your corpse?”
My lips part, every muscle in my body tense. “Why?” I ask him, trying to breathe. “Why drag me here, why toy with me? Why do you want me at all? What the fuck have I done wrong?”
His knee digs between my legs, pressing into me, and I gasp, biting my lip.
He smiles. “You tell me.” He rubs his leg against me and my own legs part, only the wet fabric between our skin. “Tell me what you saw, Lilith.” His lips press against my brow, and when he speaks next, his mouth moves against my skin. My eyes flutter closed. “Tell me how bad you’ve been.”
I shake my head.
The dark angel with blue eyes.Take care of it.Reverend Wilson. The knife. The fires.
No.
“No,” I say the word out loud and he pulls back as my eyes meet his.
He frowns, anger in his eyes. Then he pushes off the counter, backing away from me. “Then I can’t help you. And I can’t fuck you. Andyou,”he glares at me, “you can’t fuck anyone else, you got it?”
And he leaves me standing in the kitchen before I can figure out exactly how to tell him how much I hate him. But does it matter? He probably hates me all the more.
* * *
But the thingabout hate is that it can consume you, and when something that strong consumes you, you’re going to burn out.
And Lucifer Malikov, demon boy that he is, burns out like the rest of us. And he does it before me, because his life isn’t on the line.
I’m lying in bed beside him when he does.
We’re back at his house, and it’s quiet. So damn quiet. We left after our standoff in the kitchen, and I watched with satisfaction as he didn’t touch Ophelia again. He just got his boys, told everyone to get the fuck out, and dragged me out of there, buckling me in his BMW after I had changed.
The guards stayed behind, to make sure everyone left Liber. So when I sneak downstairs, no one stops me from opening up the front door and walking right out.
And when I dash into the woods behind his house, climbing the low fence, glancing over my shoulder after I land on the other side, no one follows me.
