Page 18 of That Sik Luv

“How do you—”

“Briony, please,” I interrupt, running my hands down the ridges of my abdomen and along my body. “I’ve been watching for a while, but I’ve always seen you. Seen you long before you could see yourself.”

She’s more like me than she realizes. The demon she thinks I am is simply an illusion they’ve projected. Rights and wrongs aren’t as straightforward when you’re on my side of the track. Morality is viable, something you must bend to your needs to survive. I’ll fight until I’m a rotted corpse to show her that.

I continue to feel her eyes on me as I toss my hair around me, shaking my head beneath the water like the wild man she’s intrigued by. She’s taking the words I’ve said and making them mean something.

Just as she should.

Chapter ten

Fan the Flame

Withshakinghands,Ilower the clothes into the old porcelain sink in our basement. Grabbing the lighter fluid, my hands scour the metal shelves lining the cement wall of the basement, searching for a match. My heart is racing as I place my hands on the edge of the sink, bending forward over the blood and dirt-covered clothes.

He’s in your backyard.

The bile rises in my throat, and just as I’m fighting the urge to throw up, I feel him behind me. His hand slides up the back of my neck, fisting my hair and pulling it tightly until my head falls back. I gasp as he presses his body to mine, feeling his hard physique against my backside.

“It was you or him,” he says in his throaty tone, his mouth near my ear. “You’re a fucking idiot not to see it.”

He releases the tight grip on my hair, and my head falls forward. I twist immediately, turning to face him with a scowl. His hands are on either side of the sink, holding me in place. His mask is back over his face and those hazel eyes that always hold this dangerously lifeless look about them stare directly into mine. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and a new pair of black pants. I can’t seem to understand where they came from, unless he literally brought a bag in here when he snuck in.

He leans into me, getting entirely too close. Towering over, he looks down at me, trembling beneath him.

“No one hurts you, but me,” he says definitively, as if it’s supposed to bring me some sort of comfort.

He nuzzles his head against me again like he’s rubbing his scent on me, or my scent on him, before whispering into my ear, “But the pain I’ll bring upon you is the kind you’ll need. The kind your body begs for me to find deep inside that sweet little exterior. The kind your insides scream to release but are muffled with deceptions of sin.”

I close my eyes as my breaths fall heavy. I feel that scream, that ache he’s referring to, the tightening in my lower abdomen. My thighs, now tense, pressed against each other again.

He leans back slightly, separating only enough to bring his middle finger to the base of my throat where it dips. Slowly, he trails it down my chest, over my shirt, between my breasts, and down the line of my abdomen until he reaches the place just above the hem of my skirt.

“I can get rid of that ache for you, doll,” he whispers, running his ring-covered hand along the edge of my skirt, pushing the finger just beneath the hem. “If you allow yourself to fall into flames of eternal hell with me.” I can practically hear the smirk in his tone.

My skin awakens at his touch, and a reluctant moan rumbles through my throat. He cocks his head, his eyes peering back into mine. I can see the satisfaction beneath the black ski mask in his eyes alone. He’s well aware of his effects on the body before him.

Lifting his mask up enough to expose his sharp-cut jaw and full lips, he reaches behind him, grabbing something from his back pocket. I suck in a breath as he places a single match between his teeth like a cigarette, angling the end towards me.

Sulfur. The smell. It’s the scent that now reminds me of him.

“Take it,” he grits through his teeth.

He makes me so nervous. Terrified, yet so entirely intrigued.

My hand slowly rises and I grab the end of the match from his lips, careful not to touch them as I do. He eyes me hard, and I see the roll of his throat, the throat that, upon closer inspection, is covered with a black rose tattoo.

I’ve never seen anyone like him. I know no one like him. Questions litter my mind again as I try to piece together who he is and why I feel the familiarity in his presence, why I find myself trusting him.

“Recognize Briony, that I’m the air to your fire. All you need to do is fan the flame.” His eyes fall to the match in my hand and back. “Finish it.” He barks his orders through a clenched jaw, a coldness to his tone.

Pulling the mask back down, he turns, walking back up the stairs of the basement. I stare at the match in my hand, his words yet again sinking their claws into me. The symbolism he’s consistently using is an odd mirror of his own truth, or a calculated game set to deceive me.

I take that match and strike it against the brick wall behind the sink. The flame ignites in the air, the sulfur catching fire. I made the move. I fanned the flame. Tossing the match into the sink, the clothes quickly catch fire and I gaze into the bright orange and red glow, feeling an odd comfort in its blaze.

Laterthatnight,I’mlistening to Mia babble about nonsense through the phone as I eye my backyard through the window of my bedroom. Disbelief and anger fill me at the fact that Aero blackmailed me, entangling me into his web of destruction. It’s time for me to devise a plan against him.

“Olivia said that she expected Terrance to ask her to the Governor’s Ball, but that he’ll probably choose Erin because she sucked him off in his car last Friday night. Can you believe that?”

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