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“You’re prim and proper yourself, but you’re not organized.”
“I’m…not prim and proper.”
“Wearing lace panties, drinking water with a straw, and always keeping your nails clean and trimmed says otherwise. Besides, your manner of speech is calm and measured, as if you were taught by private tutors to speak a certain way.”
My mouth falls open and the slice of pizza remains suspended mid-air. How and when the hell did he even notice those things?
Hell, even I don’t pay attention to half of them.
I should’ve known he’d be a danger to me. I should’ve pushed him away harder when I could’ve.
But that’s not possible now, is it?
Not when I’ve become inexplicably addicted to him, to his ethereal face and that delicious accent in his deep voice.
Not when seeing him brings a sense of peace I’ve never experienced before.
He leans back on his hand, the gleam in his eyes so similar to a predator who’s enjoying toying with his prey. “Tell me, what made you prim and proper, Anastasia?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take a bite of my pizza.
“Let me guess. It has something to do with your real identity, which is why you changed it. Was it suffocating where you came from? Is that why you left?”
My ears heat, but instead of playing into his hands, I strike back. “How about you?”
“What about me?”
“How did you become prim and proper?”
“Again, I’m not prim and proper, but I did have a cool foster father who saved me and my twin sister from the slums. It’s because of him that I changed from an ugly duckling to a beautiful swan.” He winks, but there’s no playfulness behind it. If anything, it seems like a camouflage for something dark and sinister trying to peek through.
“How about your parents?” Usually, I wouldn’t ask. I don’t really get curious about people in general, because I’d rather not get involved, but I am curious about him.
About the reason behind the darkening in his golden eyes.
He takes a bite of the pizza, chews slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. “Never knew my father, and my mother was a whore, who was as clueless as us about the identity of the man who impregnated her. When she got mad at us when we were six, she said we were the product of a gang bang from which she received her stash of drugs for the month, and the only reason she kept us was because many of her clients had pregnancy and lactation kinks.”
I gulp the mouthful of food, but that has less to do with the information and more to do with his tone when he talked about his mother.
In all my life among monsters, I’ve never heard someone speak with so much venom and pure hatred about their parent. It’s as if he wishes she were on the edge of a cliff so that he could push her off and watch as she meets her demise.
Knox leans back on his palm again and tilts his head to the side. “Now that the boring information is out of the way, why don’t you tell me aboutyourparents?”
“What about them?”
“You mentioned your mum was abused and since you spoke about her in the past tense, I assume she’s no longer alive?”
The food gets stuck in my throat and it takes me a few swallows before I can push past the clog that’s built up there. “She’s not.”
“How about your father?”
“He’s around…”
“And?”
“What?”
“Are you close?”
