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After he yowls, he shimmies onto his back, showing me the white lines of his underside, contrasting sharply with his otherwise black coat. When I found him in an alley years ago, it was those stark white lines against the black, giving him the illusion of being a little skeleton, that inspired his name.
“Can’t sleep either?”
Bones’ only response is to close his eyes and immediately go back to sleep.
Dick.
Back in the other room, I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment before collapsing back across it. I glance at the trashcan, where the last burner phone I spoke with Apostle on is still lying in pieces.
I haven’t received a replacement yet. Clearly, Apostle isn’t pleased that I have not, in fact, managed to kill Cillian.
But his call letting me know I’d failed was two weeks ago. It’s been quiet ever since. That’s not like him.
For the hundredth time, I replay the way things went down at Club Venom that night. I critique my actions—maybe not quite as harshly as my father would have. But I don’t go easy on myself either. I think of all the ways I could have, andshouldhave, made sure he was dead. Then I try to figure out why my strike didn’t actually kill him. It should have.
But eventually, just as I have the last few nights, I stop beating myself up about it.
What comes next? Ineedto figure out how the hell I’m going to get to him again.
Him.
The man who awoke something in me. Something dark and malevolent and…greedy. Something I’ve spent years trying to hide, even from myself.
Desires I shouldn’t have. Urges no one should feel.
Pain shouldn’t equal pleasure. It just shouldn’t. The insidious urge to be taken—hard, and with or without my consent—shouldn’t be the subject of every single fantasy I have.
“Such a messy little girl for me. I was going to take my fucking time with you. But I don’t think you or your greedy little wet pussy can wait, can you?”
I shiver at the memory.
My thighs clench.
Traitorous heat floods my core.
Fuck.
I have to stop this. Not just the toxically depraved desires. But even worse, having them about a man I’m supposed to kill.
A psychopath. A monster.
My forbidden fantasy.
But slowly, like it’s been for the past two weeks, the poison sinks in deep the second it gets a chance to.
I get up and close the bathroom door, making sure Bones stays there, away from my monstrousness. Back in my bedroom, I strip and lie back on the bed, shuddering in the dark as my fingers trace my skin.
The edge calls to me. The place I’ve told myself a thousand times never to go back to.Never glance down over into the abyss again. But when the darkness inside of me needs sating, it’s impossible to resist.
I shudder as my hand cups my breast, fingers pinching and twisting the nipple hard until a gasp jolts from my throat. My other hand delves lower, moving over my stomach and my hips before my fingers brush over my silken wetness.
The moan lodges in my chest, a deep humming sound as I start to roll my clit between my fingertips. I add more pressure, feeling the warmth begin to spread through my core. I pinch my nipples until they ache and cry out when I sink two fingers into myself. My hips rise, grinding my clit against my palm as the pleasure blooms.
It’s not enough. Not tonight. Not with the edge calling to me like it is.
My pulse roars like a hungry demon as my hand leaves my breasts to reach over to the bedside table. My eyes are closed, but my fingers know exactly where to find the little metal box with the ballerina painted on it, and curl around it. It opens easily, and a shiver creeps up my spine when I touch the tiny little razor blade tucked inside.
This is so fucked.
