Page 83 of Sovereign

Pussy aching, I swallow for him…because what else am I supposed to do?

He tells me what to do and I do it without thinking. Especially after that night in the game room. When he slipped the barrel of his gun into me and called me a Garrison slut. That night made me understand why everyone on Sovereign Mountain obeys him without question.

Because he might not be evil, but he’s not good either.

He’s a lot like the wilderness surrounding us tonight. Placid, breathtaking on the surface. Wild and harsh, deadly underneath.

I glance up and our gazes clash.

“Can I ask you something?” I whisper.

“Anything,” he says. “But I might not answer.”

“The game room…what you did to me there…what would you have done if the gun went off?”

He tilts his head, sinking back. “It didn’t go off.”

“But what if it had?” I press. “You risked that to…prove a point?”

His grip tightens on my hips until it hurts. “I wasn’t proving a point about me, redbird. It was about you.”

“Okay…what point?”

His other hand goes to my knee, curling around it. Yanking me closer in his lap until my palms are flat on his chest.

“I discovered that my redbird has an appetite,” he says. “One that I can satisfy.”

He’s talking in riddles again. I’ve grown to realize that’s how he hides his secrets. He flips every answer into a question or statement about the inquirer.

“But what if?” I whisper.

“What if, redbird?” he says softly. “You tell me what if?”

I can barely breathe when he’s close like this. My eyes flick over his face. Noting the few bits of gray at his temple. It’s only a few hairs, but it reminds me with a sharp jolt that I’m only twenty-one.

“What if another man put his gun in my pussy?” I say, knowing my words are explosive.

His eyes narrow. “Do you think I've never killed before?”

My jaw drops and my body tingles. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for him to go right for the throat. I stare at him, waiting for his face to crack. For a smile to appear. But his expression is set in stone.

“You…um…have you?” I whisper.

He grips my chin and pulls me in for a rough, open mouthed kiss.

“Better get to that gravy,” he says.

The food—I forgot it’s still cooking. Dizzy, I scramble out of his lap and head to the kitchen. My face is bright pink, I can feel it burning down my neck, and my legs are unsteady. I pull the biscuits from the oven and take the gravy off the low burner. I know he’s looking as I pour leftover grease into a cast iron skillet and start frying eggs. When I turn around, his pale eyes are fixed to me.

“What are you staring at?” I whisper.

I get a hint of a smile.

“Just you,” he says.

Why?

Why does he stare at me like he’s eating me alive with his eyes?

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