Page 127 of Deadfall

He trailed his finger along the swell of my breast, then bent his finger and slid the small blade down beside my nipple. A small line of blood beaded, hardly more than a scratch. Octavius quickly raised his drink and pressed the cool condensation on the glass against the cut. I didn’t exactly know what to do, so I moved my hips against the bulge in his pants and pretended to gasp.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he pulled the glass away.

His tongue licked at the cut, and I fought through the nausea by focusing on a spot on the wall over his head. I closed my eyes and willed my control to stay intact. Octavius’ hand wandered along the inside of my thigh. I held my breath as his fingers brushed between my legs and two fingers slipped inside me. I froze, and he met my eyes with a chuckle of amusement.

“I retracted the blade, doll,” he said. “Like I said, we’ll go slow. But, you will bleed for me.”

I smiled a small smile that I hoped didn’t have the sinister edge that my thoughts held. He was going to bleed for me too. The crackle of fireworks spraying across the night sky accompanied the sound of what remained of the guests cheering outside. Another burst of blues and reds played across his face, and I met his hooded gaze.

Despite everything in me that revolted against his touch, I slowly pressed my hips forward, and drove his fingers deeper. My lips parted as my hips ground against his hand. His breath picked up, and he abandoned the remote on the side table in favor of putting both hands on my body.

Perfect. That’s what I’d been waiting for.

He used his other hand and rubbed my clit, then pinched it. I yelped and jerked in his lap, my hand flailed out and purposefully knocked my flute over on the side table. It fell on its side where it broke into pieces and spilled the champagne.

“Oh, shit,” I gasped. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Octavius said, his voice laced with annoyance.

I continued to ride his fingers and after a moment, he was back under my spell. I reached out and grabbed the drink he’d abandoned. I took a sip and slid my hand to his neck. I pushed his head back and leaned a few inches over him. I opened my lips and dribbled alcohol into his mouth. The way his hips jerked, I could tell he enjoyed it. While he was distracted, I put his glass back down and subtly picked up a piece of the glass flute. It bit into my palm, but I relished the pain. Yeah, I was going to bleed for him, but not the way he hoped.

“Fuck, right there,” I gasped in mock pleasure.

I moved my hand with the glass to rest over his shoulder and leaned closer to his lips. I hated how his breath felt against my face. I hated how his fingers were inside me. I hated how he’d probably molested me in a similar fashion when I was a child. The thought made it almost impossible to continue. Everything in me rebelled against it—but I was almost done—

I leaned in closer. “You’re right, this is the best seat in the house.”

I slammed the piece of glass into his jugular. His eyes went wide, and he choked on a gasp. His hand flailed around in search of the remote, but I knocked it out of reach. I yanked the glass out and stabbed him again. He looked at me in shock and horror as he tried to form words.

At that exact moment, the pop and explosive eruption of the firework finale went up in the air, casting a beautiful display of colors across his face, still frozen in shock as he choked on his own blood.

“You probably don’t remember me.” I climbed off his lap. “But, I remember you.”

I grabbed the rest of his old-fashioned and tossed the drink back in one go. I wiped my mouth, tasting his blood on my lips. He convulsed in the chair, eyes wide and I could see he was trying really hard to place me.

I shook my head and laughed softly at his folly. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

I slipped the mask off my face and tossed it aside, then leaned in close and patted his cheek.

“I’m not your doll,” I said. “And you’ll never touch another child again.”

Octavius’ hands fell limply onto his lap as he gave up the fight. It felt like a weight had been lifted, as I realized how much of my anger had been from my failure to find, and execute him. My throat was tight with unshed tears of relief. It had been a long time coming and now, in a matter of a few minutes, I’d succeeded where I’d failed so many times before.

My hand burned from the glass, but nothing could diminish my joy. I perched on his lap and hummed happy birthday, while the life faded from his eyes and the brilliance of the firework show faded behind him like a morbid backdrop.

Octavius was dead.

When I knew I couldn’t linger any longer, I stood up and investigated him for any weapons. I pulled a nine-millimeter from a back holster, just as the doors slammed open.

60

GABRIEL

Seven and I stormed into the room as Emersyn whirled toward the door and leveled a gun at us. I momentarily forgot how to breathe, because holy fuck—she looked stunning—no, beyond stunning—I didn’t have the right words. The dress left nothing to the imagination, and with blood splattered over her and a gun in her capable hands—devil fucking help me.

Seven whistled low. “Baby girl—that dress—” His voice was strangled.

Emersyn lowered the gun and relaxed slightly once she realized it was us. She looked down at herself as though she just remembered what she was wearing.