Page 24 of Worth

“Murder Kitten,” she repeats with a grunted laugh as her head falls back down against the pillow. “Aiden, you’re fucking weird.”

“Always,” I agree. I slap her ass once, grinning when I see her tense up in a way that is very much not a pain response. “Now, up! Meet me in the kitchen.”

I leave her to get up on her own, so I’m not tempted to forgo my plan to be a gentleman. I’ve watched movies with romance in them. I know I have to woo Kitten before she’ll stay with me forever. I’ll be the most romantic fucker to live until then.

She joins me in the kitchen after a few minutes, yawning as she twists her hair up in a bun atop her head, fully dressed in another pair of black cargos and a tank top. I can’t say I’m not disappointed that she put a bra on, but that’s probably better, considering what I have planned for today. She slides into the chair at the breakfast bar, rubbing at her eyes.

“French toast,” I announce, sliding a plate in front of her stacked with several pieces.

Kitten’s face loses all trace of sleepiness, her eyes growing wide. “You made these?” she asks, smiling up at me.

I grin back. “Just for you.”

Her hand strikes out like a pissed off cobra, swiping a piece off the top of the stack. Her white teeth bite into the bread, but before I can ask her if she wants syrup for the top, she’s spitting it out. I stare at the half-chewed glob of French toast on the counter.

“Aiden, what the hell?” she asks with a grimace on her face.

I glance at her, and back to the breakfast I made. The things I’m feeling—the embarrassment, the anger, the disappointment in myself—I try to shove them away, try to let coldness settle into my bones.

But it isn’t working. The only thing I can do is stand frozen and let thesefeelingsrun wild in a waythat makes me feel weak and inadequate.

Kitten flinches as I snatch up the plate and hurl it at the sink, the plate shattering as it hits the wall behind it.

The need to make someone bleed fills me and all I can think of is finding a victim to make pay for my own shortcomings. I want to hear screaming. I want to have the slippery feel of blood on my skin. I want to relish in someone else’s pain so I don’t have to consider my own. Because all I need is to escape who I am, and become nothing and no one.

A hand slips around my wrist as I start toward the front door and I spin with a snarl, raising my hand to smash whoever is touching me without my permission in the face. The oddest colored eyes I’ve ever seen stare at me, shocked and worried, and I am able to stop myself before I actually hit the girl they belong to.

Instead, my hand closes around her slender throat and I shove her backwards, slamming her into the wall. Something inside is trying to stop me as I clamp my fingers down harder, the sounds of this girl choking feeding the beast that lurks under my skin, just waiting for me to fuck up.

“Aiden,” she rasps, grasping at my hand. “Aiden, let me go.”

She struggles as I tighten my grip. I revel in the way she’s fighting to get a breath. Those pretty gray eyes—the ones that look over my shoulder—will be even prettier when they’re glazed over and lifeless.

“Zander, help me,” the girl wheezes out, the words almost inaudible.

I’m not sure who the hell she’s talking to, but I don’t care. Her eyes linger on the space over my shoulder for a precious few seconds longer before they snap back to me. Tears soak her cheeks. She desperately shreds at my hand with her fingernails.

There’s a look that every living thing gets right before they accept that death is knocking at the door. There’s almost a peaceful light about them. I wait to see it from this girl—wait to see her concede her life to me.

But she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes flare with defiance, like she can cheat death just by deciding it’s not her time. I’m fascinated and furious at the same time. How dare this insignificant girl think she is more powerful than death—more powerful than me?

“You’re hurting Kitten, Aiden,” she rasps. “You’re hurting me. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

My blood freezes in my veins, and I blink as my hand loosens a little. The girl sucks in a lungful of air, the reprieve just enough to allow her oxygen. I can’t explain why her words stop me. Words should make no difference to me. Words are just words, and you can twist them a million different ways to suit your purposes. Actions are what are important.

I start to shake off the distraction, intent on finishing what I started. But before I can, the girl touches my cheek, her other hand grasping tightly on my fingers that are gripping her throat.

“I’m Kitten,” she says, her voice raw. “You don’t need to hurt me.”

Her touch does something to me. It sparks a current in my blood as I stare into those eyes, driving away the darkness and shadows that plague my heart with my failures.

Until I remember who I am.

Until I realize what I’m doing.

Until I realize what I’ve done.

I rip my hand away from Kitten’s throat and stumble back. “Fuck,” I whisper, my heart racing. I’m not sure how this happened. I don’t even remember what upset me. Kitten stays on her feet even though she looks a little unsteady, one hand braced on the wall while the other hand prods her neck like she’s checking for injuries.

---