Page 104 of The Society


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There’s a fine line between fear and arousal, and I’m slipping between both of them. He hasn’t even laid a finger on me and I’m wetting my pants, for a whole different reason. “For everything you did for my mother, I’m going to cut you... a break.”

I swallow, hard. Funny how when the option of running is taken away, so is the impulse to flee. “W-what do you want?”

“I’m going to ask you one time.” His lips curl and it slides his hair against the side of my face. He pushes up against me, my legs spread on either side of him.

My breasts squeeze between the shelves and push the books back, my hands grasping onto what they can.

“No lies. Do you understand?”

I nod and lower my forehead against the edge of the shelf.

“Where is the snow?”

Me. That’s my name. I’m the snow.

But he wants to know about the drugs I sold.

Punctuation

STYX

“Ummm... I- umm.” Her soft hair brushes against my nose, adding another layer to the butter pecan: vanilla bean with a hint of coffee. Her shampoo is different than her body wash and I love the way the scent crawls up my nostrils, like a desert from Carbon, the café back home.

“Stop. Fucking. Stuttering!” I order. Not only does her cute way of stumbling over words distract me, but also makes it hard for me to hate her, which I don’t much appreciate. Normally, the hate is the easy part. People are disliked until proven worthy, and this girl—this woman—baffles me. The innocent look, the hero, the sweet tone of her voice, the scent... the freak inside that’s addicted to adrenaline... why the hell is all of this getting to me?

She may have saved my mom, saved this place, saved me—but she also stole millions from someone who couldn’t defend themselves. That’s a pretty shitty thing to do. Something my father won’t forgive.

“Start talking!” I demand as her whole body tenses. “And there better not be a fucking extra syllable on the explanation.” For my benefit, not hers. “Or else...” I trail off to heighten the threat.

The Little Thief turtles her neck before dropping her forehead to the bookshelf.

“I’m going to take this knife.” After taking the stainless steel penis probe from my back pocket, I hold the object to her upper spine.

She hisses then freezes when the movement starts. Over the thin material of the shirt, she can’t tell it’s just a sex toy. “I will filet you open.” Killing women, hurting women, that’s not my style, but she doesn’t need to know that. “There’s a nice layer of fat underneath there, but I bet it’s like butter to slice through.”

The Little Thief attempts to speak, but I press the object deeper along the curve of her back. “I’m not playing,” I reiterate. “Not a single missed syllable or I’ll expose your spine... use the torture toys in the other room to hammer in a few vertebrae, starting from the bottom up.”

She angles her head to the side in order to get a better view of the fake weapon in her blind spot. My body blocks out most of the light from the window, the candles near the urn add some brightness, but not much.

Her heavy breaths turn into full-blown heaves. There’s plenty of space between us.

Me. Dick. Probe. Sofa. Ass. Her.

Maybe that’s the problem.

Sliding the probe higher, I lean over the curves of her ass; the length of my dick, which is snuggly tucked into my jeans, grazes between her plump ass cheeks.

At the proximity, near intrusion, her back arches abruptly, forcing me to shift position before she uses her head as a blunt force object.

Shifting the curtain of hair to the side, I bring my threat to her ear in the form a whisper, “You’re the doc, you tell me since I didn’t pay much attention in Anatomy: using the vertebrae as nails would sever the spinal cord, right? Leave you some form ofplegicwhile I find a way to torch this place and collect the insurance?”

She sucks all the air into her lungs and blows it out through her nose in increments. Every time she cuts off the process, her body shakes like a hiccup. “I,” she manages to expel between breaths.

“Good girl,” I coax. “Tell me where my snow is and I’ll be on my way.”

“C-c-can’t.”

For fuck’s sake.

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