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I can’t lie. The thought of anyone else seeing her like this pisses me off more than I’d like to admit.
I step closer, the scent of her perfume wafting over me and very lightly, reach out to rub the bottom hem of her robe, right over her thigh. Goosebumps raise on her skin from my fingers and I can practically hear her heartbeat hammering in her chest, but I don’t step away.
Neither does she.
Her lips part slightly over a breath when my fingers dance across her bare skin, and her eyes go half-lidded. Hazy green in the late setting sun.
“Maybe I will.”
“Go get dressed.”Before I spank your ass.
Forcing myself back from her, I move into the living room. At least it’s not entirely pink.
The house is warm, decorated in rich colors and all manner of different patterns. A stark contrast to the sterile mansion her mother owned in Bel Air and a hell of a lot smaller.
Funnily enough, it suits her better than the sprawling estate ever did.
Hannah moves into the kitchen to get a vase before coming back to set her flowers on the coffee table. There’s a picture on the mantel, that catches my eye. Hannah and Melissa. Young, probably teenagers. It’s easy to see their twins when they’re right beside each other.
“I just wanted a reminder,” Hannah says softly from behind me. The room shifts and the tension could be cut with a knife. She chuckles quietly, though it lacks amusement. “It’s hard to forget she was that girl once. Happy . . . real.”
“She’s still real,” I murmur, turning away from it. It’s hard to look at the woman I’ve been obsessed with for years, standing next to the one I’ve wanted dead for a long fucking time. “She’s just a murderer.”
“She’s still a person,” Hannah says quietly. “She’s still my sister.”
“And she shouldn’t be.” I don’t know what makes me say it, but it’s true. No one as good as Hannah should ever be related to a monster like fucking Melissa Gaines. “She doesn’t deserve to be.”
Hannah watches me for a moment, biting the inside of her lip in thought.
“I’m not sure we’re all that different. She just acted on her dark thoughts.”
I shake my head, gritting my teeth. She’s too fucking good for this world. Too fucking good for me.
“You don’t have a dark bone in your body, Hannah,” I murmur under my breath.
She’s silent for a moment, watching me.
“And if I did? If I did those horrible things she’s accused of.”
Fuck.
I don’t have an answer for her. In my mind, I want to say I’d kill her. In my chest I know I fucking couldn’t.
Ironic, isn’t it?
“I’ll go get dressed now,” she says quietly.
And then she goes to her room and shuts the door, leaving me with nothing to do but think.
Hannah
What does one even wear to a sex club?
Thank God for Brit, or thisMission Impossibletrip wouldn’t be happening. The clothes she lent me are strewn across the bed, but to be honest, I have no idea how I’m going to get any of them on.
Black leather, lace, chains, spikes for “flavor” as she’d said, though the spikes might not be a bad way to keep people away from me.
Get it together, Hannah.
