Page 48 of Poisoned Pawn

“Hey, that’s not true. Didn’t you hear what I fucking said earlier,” he snaps, keeping me in place and forcing me to look at him.

“I heard you. Heard you saying the right words so you could fuck me again. Men will say anything if there’s a chance of a fuck!”

“Bullshit! I don’t need fancy words or to sweet talk a woman into my bed. And I sure as hell don’t need them with you.” He pauses, and it only takes me a moment to understand why.

He’s hard again. And when he thrusts his hips up, I can’t help the small moan that leaves my mouth along with most of my unnecessary anger. I’m angry at me more than anything. Angry at not being able to accept his words for what they are. For not allowing myself to believe that he could want me in the first place but even more so now that he knows what happened to me. And there’s a little bit of shame too. It’s the first time I’ve felt it with him, and it scares me.

“Your name isn’t why I didn’t kill you, or even because my dick gets hard just fucking looking at you. I’m not that simple. It’s so much more fucking complicated than that, Star.”

“Explain,” I ask.

“I don’t fucking know how. I don’t do emotions and fluffy shit. I’m fucking dead inside. But you? You make me wild, feral, possessive. Protective. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way about anyone.”

“Who was she?” I ask, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve screwed up. His hands leave my face, and he lifts me from his lap, placing me beside him, then he gets up, pulling his joggers up as he goes.

“We are not doing this now.” There’s a ping from the iPad on the table and he picks it up then turns to me. “It’s not what you fucking think either.”

He climbs the stairs and slams the bedroom door shut.

“Not what I fucking think. What else am I meant to think?” I mutter, getting to my feet. Wetness between my thighs reminds me I need to clean up, and I head to the small downstairs bathroom with a trail of cum running down my leg. It’s also a glaring reminder of the fact that not once has the subject of contraception come up. I must be losing my mind. He’s making me lose my fucking mind.

Thankfully, I’m covered having just recently had a new shot. When we had sex at Illicit, he used a condom, so at least I can hope he’s clean. But it shows how much he affects me. How lost in the moment, how utterly and irrevocably consumed I am by him.

God, I wish Parker was here, or I could at least speak to her. Death and murder are part of my life because of my family, and Carter was right that what he does doesn’t scare me. And he was even a little right about it turning me on. Not the killing but who he is, his strength, his conviction, that alpha male protectiveness. It exudes from him, seeps from his pores. Darwin’s Theory of Evolution dictates that for evolution of any species, the strongest male and female couple and procreate to form a stronger next generation. Females seek out the strongest male.

Carter’s words about being protective hit that mark. Who he is and what he does make him a perfect—slightly morally grey—choice. But me? I’m scared of my own body.

What happened just now was the first time I’ve ever felt so empowered. He made me feel strong, like what my body was feeling was okay, natural.

I’m not sure I have enough space in my head to deal with everything that’s going on right now. We are being hunted, not only by people prepared to darken their soul for money, but also by my family, who will also want Carter’s blood. A man that sparks a fire in the deepest parts of me.

I finish up in the bathroom, my stomach growling as I walk back to the kitchen. The rain has let up, but the dark, stormy clouds remain.

I find some pasta and cream cheese and set to work making a simple carbonara. By the time I’m done, Carter still hasn’t come back down, and I’m in no mood or hurry to see him again. I’m more confused than ever about the two of us—if there even is an us. Maybe we are just two people who like to fuck.

It’s more than that.

Ignoring the voice in my head because it clearly doesn’t know what it’s talking about, I dish myself up a bowl and go and sit in the lounge. I switch the TV on, but I’m not really paying any attention as I fork mouthfuls of pasta into my mouth while staring out the window.

I watch as the sun sets from my position sprawled out on the sofa, the sky darkening till it’s pitch black. There aren’t any stars visible tonight thanks to the clouds, the moon peeking through intermittently.

Something new starts playing on the TV, but I don’t pay it any mind until a voice I recognise speaks. I let out an ironic laugh as John Wick fills up his car at the petrol station. It’s a mean a car, but would I steal from John Wick? Not if my life depended on it.

Another question pops into my mind; would I jump into bed with him? Hell fucking yeah.

I give another little laugh as I realise that’s exactly what I did. I’m sleeping with a hitman. I think I might even be falling for the hitman.

I watch for a little while until my eyelids grow heavy, and I eventually fall asleep.

My dreams are swathed in darkness. Flashes of men’s faces, twisted by their own sick desires, girls whose screams fill the air, every room, every corner of the building. Screams that morph into sobs, broken, a childhood ripped apart at the seams. Nightmares can’t compete with their new reality. A reality that will scar their souls, fester in their minds, eating away at every good thought and future dream, for the rest of their lives.

Blood splattered across my face as I’m carried away, dirty blood infected with an illness there is no cure for. Even in death they continue to infect everyone they have touched. Whispering in their mind, tainting every touch of men who only wish to love them. Warping their sexual desires and filling them with shame.

Until that one man who can fight their demons, scorch the memory and burn the evil touch of these men away…

I startle awake, bolting up from the sofa, my breaths see-sawing in and out. My wide eyes dart around the dark room, seeking out…a shadow moves in front of me.

“Jesus Christ, Carter,” I curse, swiping a hand down my face and feeling the wetness there.

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