Page 13 of That Sik Luv

I love watching as her mind whirls, feeling the full effects of her entire little world flipping upside down. I want her to hate me. Need her to keep feeling that ghost of fear that’s crawling like spiders beneath that porcelain skin. I want to hurt her so fucking good.

“What are you going to do to him?” she asks, just above a whisper.

Studying her face, my eyes travel from the curve of her lips to those deep blue eyes again. The ones I rarely get to gaze at. Jacob tries to get up, yelling out for help, so I slam the side of his face back against the desk again by his neck. Surprisingly, she doesn’t even flinch.

Tipping my chin down, I peer at her through my upper lashes.

“Watch his face change when you return.”

Her throat bobs, her eyes rimming with tears as she shakes her head. I give her one silent nod and she gazes like an imbecilic doe caught in the headlights of raw pragmatism.

She doesn’t want to believe me. Not yet ready to abort her values, her beliefs. But the facts remain. Saint and his father are determined to end her one way or another. Saint with his own fucked-up amateur plans and his father’s, on their way to being fucked up by me, both of them using others to do their dirty work like a couple of rich cowards playing puppets. What they don’t realize is the toys they think they’re playing with are about to run the show.

Kicking her leg up on the surface of a nearby desk, I watch as she folds the switchblade, tucking it back in her tights against the smooth skin of her inner thigh, pulling them high enough for me to see the very edge, the curve of that deliciously tight ass beneath the pleated skirt.

I contemplate slitting Jacob’s throat right here on the table, then grabbing her hips and fucking that sweet little ass right over his dead and bleeding body, but somehow find the strength to refrain.

“What part of you did he touch?” I ask as she drops her leg.

She reaches up with two fingers and taps her mouth, then the back of her neck. Staring at her, the heat builds inside of me at the visual.

“Which hand?”

Her eyes wrinkle in the corners as if she’s reluctant to tell me.

“Which fucking hand?!” I demand, making her jump.

“Right…the right,” she stutters quickly.

I give her another dismissive nod.

“Who the hell are you?” she asks, buttoning up her shirt, not once taking her eyes off mine.

Some part of me loves the fact that she needs to know more of who I am, but I’ll never tell her. Not when keeping the mystery alive is so much fun. And necessary.

“Go,” I demand.

Her eyes find the door, then return to me.

“I said fucking go!”

“No, no! Briony, please don’t leave! He’s going to kill me!”

Jacob’s pleas fill me with disgust and insurmountable joy.

I shrug my shoulders at her. “It’s true.”

Briony’s horror-filled gaze finds me again. If she’s not going to leave, I’ll be forced to show her exactly who the fuck I am.

“Put the hand out,” I instruct him calmly.

Jacob shakes his head against the table. I tighten my hold on his throat, his eyes bulging as he struggles to take in a breath. Finally, he raises his right hand, putting it forward on the desk.

“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord,” I recite, flipping open a new knife with one hand. “Isn’t that right, kid? Isn’t that what they’re teaching you these days?”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Jacob yells into the wooden desk.

My lovesick eyes find my intimidated little doll. I’ve entirely piqued her interest as she watches with dilated pupils, her pulse practically felt from across the room.

---