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Or is this the real her?
“So you remember my name,” she purrs, her voice low and sensual, making sure that the timbre of her voice wraps around my cock and hardens it while simultaneously sending my heart into overdrive.
The only person who has ever had any effect on my cold heart and apparently still does is always her. Even if the cause of my rapid heartbeat is painstakingly different from the innocent way she used to play with it, I’m not sure if this version is any easier for me to handle.
Fuck that.
It’s much worse.
“Do not play games with me, little girl.” I turn to her and back her into the wall. She grins at me the entire time, her chin tilted up in defiance. She isn’t the least bit scared despite the fact I’m covered in blood and holding a knife with a body lying behind me—one I need to get rid of quickly or get the hell out of here.
Yet I find myself leaning into Zoey and inhaling some sultry perfume she’s wearing. I place my arm above her head to trap her in place. “Answer me, now,” I demand. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Me? Oh, I was just passing by.” She flutters her lashes at me innocently. “After all, I’m just a little girl.” The fake pout she gives me shouldn’t be as fucking sexy as it is, nor should it have me imagining tanning her ass red for her sass, but fuck does it ever.
“Go home, Zoey, now, and if I catch you on this side of town again, I’ll—”
“What? You’ll what?” She cocks her head to the side and runs her gaze over me, her tongue touching her lips in a way that has my cock jerking. “Kill me? We both know you won’t, Gray.” The way she drags out my name shouldn’t have me fantasizing about all the ways I could have her screaming it, but to my dismay, it does, and I hate myself for it.
It’s what makes me step back and withdraw, reminding myself who she is… and who I am.
A killer.
“Go home.”
“All by myself this late at night? There might be bad people around,” she teases.
“There are, and you are staring right at him. Last warning, Zoey. Leave,” I snap.
Pushing from the wall, she moves toward me, only stopping when her chest presses against mine, and she rubs her tight little nipples against me. It’s torture not to reach out and touch her, but if I cross that line, I will never go back, and I promised myself I would keep away from her.
I refuse to stain her life with what lives inside of me.
She’s Alaric’s daughter. She’s a civilian. She’s innocent.
I repeat those reasons in my head, but it doesn’t help.
“Or what, Gray? What will you do? I’m not good at behaving.” The grin she gives me has me seeing red, and before I know what I’m doing, my hand is wrapped around her arm as I drag her down the alley with me. She laughs breathlessly, stumbling in her heels but keeping up.
“Ooh, kinky. I figured you liked it rough.”
I ignore her teasing and grit my teeth to hold back my anger and need for her.
She has no idea who she’s playing with.
And why would she?
As far as she’s concerned, she believes I’m one of Alaric’s business acquaintances and nothing more. The man whose job I was meant to fill.
She thinks I’ve only come into her life now, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Even though a part of me is saddened that I was so easily forgotten, it’s a blessing in disguise that she has no recollection of me, because this way she also has no idea that I’ve spent every day of my life thinking of her, or that every scumbag I kill is for her, to keep her safe. Yet here she is, tempting fate, dressed like a whore instead of the bright-eyed girl I met and swore to protect all those years ago.
At the mouth of the alley, I clean the knife and put it away. The police won’t bother testing the crime scene since they’ll think it’s just another junkie murder or turf war gone bad, especially in this part of town. My black Jag idles at the end of the alley, and I shove her in the passenger seat before sliding into the driver’s. Unable to see her in the dim light, I bark, “Buckle up.”
She does as she’s told, thank God, and without waiting for another response, I gun it, throwing her back in her seat. When I hit the main road, I finally slow down, not wanting to get a ticket or be pulled over, but it doesn’t stop my hands from curling into the steering wheel and clawing at it.
I am angry at her, at the world, and at myself.
I can feel her gaze, and I finally give in and look over before swearing and jerking my eyes forward, knowing it was a mistake. Her legs are parted temptingly, showing off her shapely thighs I’d love to mark up, and her skirt is riding up, flashing red panties. Her tits almost fall from her shirt.
