Page 29 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

“Elijah, what—”

“Do you know what I am?”

“A psychopath?”

His gaze shot up to mine. “You want answers, then I strongly advise you not to fuck with me right now, Charlotte.”

I bit my lip, feeling like a goddamn schoolgirl who just got scolded, my cheeks burning and my chest tight.

Cognac irises kept me captive as he approached me with slow, calculated steps. There was something unsettling in the way he looked at me, something sinister and dark—his expression guarded.

I crossed my arms, rubbing a shoulder with my palm. Maybe it was a way to protect myself from what was to come. As if I knew that whatever he was about to tell me would rock the very foundation of the life I’d lived until now.

One more step, and he stilled in front of me. His scent enveloped me while his lustrous amber eyes dared me to ask the question he was burning to answer.

“Do you know. What. I. Am?”

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “No,” I whispered, hating that I sounded so scared. Vulnerable. Weak. But I bet he fucking loved it.

“I’m a master.” He inched forward, and I moved back, hating that his heavy presence penetrated my space, taking control.

Dominating.

My back hit the wall, and I shut my eyes—trapped between the devil and the gates of hell. Air swooshed from my lungs as he placed his hands above my shoulders at either side of my head, cocooning me in, leaving me trapped with him entirely in control of whatever move I made.

He leaned closer, his scent wrapped around me, the coarse hair of his stubble beard grazing against my jaw, sending a wave of shivers down my back. The sensation drowned out the threat and replaced it with an impulse to want to be closer, my skin ignited with a toxic fusion of fear and seduction. I had no idea how this was possible, how a man could instill terror and ignite a sensual attraction at the same damn time.

I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes when I felt his lips brush against the side of my ear, my body lit with a dangerous desire to submit.

“Master of what?” I whispered, and I heard him take a breath.

“Killing people. They call me…The Musician.”

Fear slammed into my chest, breaking shards of ice in my veins, my lips parting as I whimpered. Every muscle in my body went rigid, and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t think.

“Judging by how you just paled, I’m guessing you’ve heard of me.”

The Musician. The man I’d heard Chase and the other guys whisper about. The man who carved out a treble clef on the chests of his victims. The man everyone knew about, yet no one had ever seen. A ghost. A phantom.

Not anymore. Not to me.

“Tell me, my little cellist,” he dragged a finger down the side of my face, “are you afraid of me?”

I swallowed before choking out a shaky, “No.”

“Liar.” He gripped my jaw and forced me to look the other way, pressing his nose against the skin below my ear as he inhaled. “I can smell your fear, how it radiates off your flesh. It’s fear that feeds men like me. Do you know the kind of high it gives you, the rush of power seeing a grown man piss himself while looking you in the eye?”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch.”

“You say that like I have the ability to give a fuck.” His grip tightened on my jaw, my body growing weaker beneath his cruel touch. “I kill people for money. I live off the death of others, eat food and drink whiskey bought from blood money. And yet you think to insult me will make me give a damn.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, desperately trying to hold on to whatever strength I had left. “Did you kill my father? My grandfather? Is that what this is all about? And now you want to kill me too?”

“Again,” he lifted a finger, “if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“Did you kill them?”

“I did not.”

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