Confusion, shock, and an indescribable, dark ache pulse within me like a thick, sluggish pulse. Since he’s arrived… his innuendoes, crowding into my personal space, guiding me back from the ledge of an episode… It’s almost as if blinders I’ve refused to rip all the way off are torn away by the shuddering, wild wind of lust, and I can no longer ignore that this man has said my name and “pussy” in the same sentence. Can’t pretend that this hungry, annoying heat isn’t one-sided.
My pussy throws up jazz hands, volunteering as fucking tribute.
I swear, if the ho could detach herself from me and throw herself at him, she would be a fucking fastball right now.
As if the bitch knows what she’s begging for anyway.
But my head, my stutter-stepping heart? They’re not on board with my kitty-kat. They’re still holding ticket stubs to the “What the hell are we doing?” train, and I don’t know if I’m willing to jump off.
This man, he could break me in more ways than one. Definitely my body. I have zero doubts he would shatter me with a pleasure that would have me looking for his ass in the daytime with a flashlight.
But Asad has alsobrokenme in the past. I’ve been there, done that, and have the therapy bills to show for it. There is no way I could risk being vulnerable with him. Stripping nude with him, beyond my bare flesh, is a no. It’s a hell no.
“I’m still going to have to pass on behalf of me and my pussy.She’s anti-bullying as much as I am.” I stack my hands, crossing them in an X.
If it’d been anyone else except Asad, I would call the glimmer in his silver eyesamusement, but thisisAsad. So no, it was more likely a warning or excitement at the thought of possibly murdering me.
“A shame. I thought we could negotiate this like two adults, but unfortunately, we’re one short for that conversation.” He straightens, and I frown at his insult. My comeback leaps up my throat and roasts my tongue, but he holds up a hand.
It isn’t that age-old “stop” gesture that prevents me from speaking though. It’s the ice-cold mask hardening his features and the freezing of those eyes, turning them to dirty sleet. A shiver tracks down my spine, and I’m no longer staring into the face of my childhood tormentor, my stepbrother, or the merciless bane of my existence.
No, I’m peering into the visage of the monster I’ve heard whispered about. The Asad Prince that trades his custom suits for blood-covered skin. Montblanc pens for fillet knives. Boardrooms for torture chambers stained with fluids and screams.
The only thing keeping me from shrinking back into the chair is the curse of my pride. Outside, I angle my head while my lips curl into a condescending sneer. But inside… inside, I’m shaking. I’m a killer, but the… male staring at me out of Asad’s eyes is something altogether different. And more terrifying.
“I’ve tried reasoning with you, Ember. Given you more concessions than most. Let anyone else talk to me like you have, and their mamas would receive their tongues along with a gift certificate for a funeral home. Say ‘thank you’ for my patience.”
When I don’t immediately reply—because shit, how this muthafucka want my gratitude for not snatching the tongue out my mouth?—Asad leans forward and wraps his hand around the front of my throat. In reflex, my fingers wrap around his wrist, but that implacable grip only tightens, shutting off my air. Panic flares, and I drop my hand. There’s no mercy in his steady,unblinking gaze. I could be a random bitch off the street, not his stepsister, and he could easily strangle me or snap my neck without any remorse.
I’m not ready to die.
I want to live.
And I’m ready to beg for it.
Bile churns in my belly and races for my chest as I tap his upper arm. Asad gradually loosens his grip, his stare never leaving mine. If I expected to see satisfaction and triumph in his eyes—and I did—I’m wrong. There’s nothing there. Nothing. Just like his soul. And his conscience.
“What do you have for me?” he asks.
Hatred spills over and through me. I’ve had years, more than a decade, to detest this man. But those instances seem like petty grievances compared to this moment. Him and his mother have repeatedly tried to break me, and now he’s attempting to take my pride. And I can’t lie—he’s ripped a strip away.
“Thank you,” I grind out.
“There.” He slowly eases the pressure on my neck even more, then finally lowers his arm. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Right there. He’s gloating. My hatred doubles down. He doesn’t wait for an answer but taps the hand I hadn’t even realized I’d curled into a fist. “Unless you’re gon’ do something with that, li’l baby, let it go.” He does pause until I straighten my fingers, stretching them along the arm of the chair. “Wise choice. Now, you’re going to marry me. Four weeks from now.”
Just seconds earlier, I was silently screaming I wanted to live, that I was ready to beg for it. Beg him for it.
Well, the fury coursing through me has altered my options. I want to live. But I’m willing to tap out of here if I can take him with me.
“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, and muthafucka, you gon’ have to kill me.” And I mean that.
After what he just showed me of himself? Nah, I’ll end up shooting him up with the foulest drug I have or he’ll flay my skinfrom my bones. Either way, it would be shorter than a Britney Spears marriage.
He shakes his head, leaning forward and, once again, propping his elbows on his thighs. “Nah. Just call us Bobby and Whitney, ’cause I changed my mind, too. Killing you would be too easy, and it’d defeat the purpose. Nah. It wouldn’t hurt you, wouldn’t cost you. But those lab rats of yours.” A sinister smile curves his mouth. “Me putting a hot one through each of their heads in front of you—now that would be a heavy price for you to pay.”
His words are a solid haymaker to the chest, caving in my rib cage.
Did I say I hated him minutes ago? No, Iabhorhim now.
