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I’m fighting against the rage consuming me. At him. At myself. At how I’m doing this instead of kissing Amara and waking her up with my dick in her ass. Fighting and losing.
“Who?” I remove my hand, the blade pulling out slowly from his tongue. I’m used to the scent of copper. Don’t mind it. “You’ve reached the end of the road, you miserable piece of shit. Better give up whoever sent you. Maybe the bouncer in heaven will end up letting you in, you know? Good intentions and all that.”
His sliced tongue rests on top of his bottom lip. Blood, blood, blood everywhere.
He gazes up and to the side, at me. Withholding the answers.
“Little piggy likes being punished.” In goes the knife again, straight to his chest. “Who?”
He mumbles some incoherent shit. Finally, something that doesn’t sound like grgrgrgrgr.
“Repeat that for me, sunshine?” To emphasize how serious I am, I twist the blade inside his chest.
“You weren’t supposed to be here this early,” he mumbles, spitting blood on my hand. At least, that’s what I gather from his broken speech.
He’s been fucking stalking her. Stalking us.
I don’t mean to be late for our dates. In fact, I hate that I do. Running our type of hotel is more than a full-time job. Asserting our control and mediating between these assholes demands almost every one of my waking and sleeping hours.
If Kill and I aren’t careful, they’ll think they can take their resentment out on us. And that can never fucking happen.
Besides, this will be the last time I don’t show up on time. Other than the fact that she’s not staying here a day longer, I’ll find a way to balance the two. She’s been too considerate. Too accepting.
She won’t have to. Never again.
I’ll prove it to her.
When she wakes up.
The asshole in my grasp, however, doesn’t deserve my sympathy.
He deserves nothing but my unrestrained wrath.
“I’m here now.” I start swaying the knife in and out of him, basically fucking his chest with Cyclone. “Here to fuck Amara. The longer my cock isn’t buried inside her, the worse I torture you. So why don’t you do us a favor and tell me who sent you?”
He’s quiet other than the spitting blood noises.
“Anyone tell you what pretty eyes you have?” The gleaming knife at his face is just the incentive he needs. “They are. They’ll make such a great trophy on my wall.”
“No one sent me.” Blood spills down his chin and shirt. Fuck, I’ll have a lot to clean up once my movers get rid of him. “No one, I found out who her parents were, and…”
Ah, yes. The bastards who want nothing to do with Amara.
He makes sense. Except I’m not sold. Maybe he’s targeting her because her parents and sister live in one of the most secure skyscrapers in the city. Maybe he’s here for Killian and me. I can’t be sure.
“Hmph.” Amara’s sweet little body stirs.
I’m going to dig into who this man is and who paid him later.
Two pairs of booted feet thump on the stairs from the hall. My movers, Shawn and Lance. Once I heard the commotion inside Amara’s apartment, I texted them my location. No extra explanation was needed. An address meant it was a sign for them to haul ass.
“You haven’t been very helpful, have you?” I don’t have time for his bullshit. “Goodbye, now.”
“Wait, don’t—”
The subtle knock on the door propels me to jam the knife deeper. I stab the burglar. Sink the knife as far as it’ll go.
“Carter, it’s us,” Shawn, the father, announces.
