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His menacing presence is distracting me from what truly matters. Clearing my throat, I ask, “What happened to Myra?”
“I took her.”
My breath catches. “Where?”
“Show me your pussy.”
“Why?” My voice rises several panicked octaves.
“Myra Mancini read the manuscript containing my secrets. Secrets that will get you killed. Secrets I told you never to share.”
The weight of his words presses down on my chest, suffocating me until my vision swims with black dots. I’m on the verge of passing out, but I force myself to stay conscious for Myra’s sake.
“It’s not her fault,” I say, my words quickening, fueled by burning desperation. “She didn’t know?—”
“She ignored the warning. Now, she must die.”
I swallow back a wail. This can’t be happening. Myra can’t—The thought is too terrible to even contemplate. I’ve got to save her. Even if it means throwing myself under the ghost bus.
“What if I take her punishment? What if I do everything you say?”
Xero tilts his head at an unnatural angle. “You would sacrifice yourself for Myra?”
“Yes,” I whisper, blinking back tears. “What do you want? I’ll do anything.”
“Show. Me. Your. Pussy,” he growls.
Sobbing and shaking, I pull down my leggings and gather the fabric around my ankles, then I slide the cotton of my panties to the side, baring myself to the ghoul. Cool air swirls around my exposed flesh, making my clit throb.
Xero remains in place, those expressionless eyes glowing from within the depths of his hood. “Take it all off.”
With trembling fingers, I slide the panties to my ankles and pull the bunched fabric off my feet. “Is that enough?”
“All of it,” he says in a voice low enough to chill me to the marrow.
Shivering, I pull off my sweatshirt, my tank top, and my sports bra. The draft blowing across my skin tightens it into gooseflesh. Pulling my knees to my chest, I hug my shins, not wanting this ghost to see me completely naked.
Of all the things I should worry about, this is the most idiotic. Xero has molested me in my sleep countless times, which is why he underlined somnophilia in the sex contract.
“Open your legs,” he says, his voice so menacing and low that its vibrations reach the marrow of my bones.
Every muscle in my body stiffens. I can’t move.
“Now,” he barks.
My heart skips several beats as I part my thighs. A cold draft swirls across my feverish skin, adding to the mounting terror.
“You’re glistening for other men.”
The accusation hits me in the gut with an infusion of icy despair.
“No.”
I shake my head from side to side, not wanting to provoke him into a rage. This is the malevolent monster capable of unspeakable acts of violence. I won’t let him turn that fury onto me. Or on Myra.
“I’m wet because you saved us from those predators, and now they’re getting to see what it feels like to be violated. I’m turned on by your power. Nothing else.”
As he pauses, seeming to consider my claim, the walls echo with the guttural sounds from the sinister sixty-nine.
