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She’s… lovely.
The tumbled waves of her hair do little to hide her satin-smooth skin, but I like the way she doesn’t flinch away from my gaze. She’s used to displaying herself, of course, but now, anyone who sees her this way will also see that I touched her first.Mystitches decorate her slim waistline.Myslash marks her breastbone.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, a slight tremble underneath the hostile challenge in her voice.
I blink. I don’t have an answer for her, and I don’t like that at all.
Riley lifts her chin. “Did you come to shred my clothes again?”
I stiffen, the question unpleasant. The night I did that is all too clear in my memory, and yet it still feels like it was someone else who did it. Like the monster that lives inside me, my own personal demon, possessed me.
I don’t like the reminder, or the way that facing her now has me uncertain what my actual intention was in coming to her room tonight.
I do know one thing, though. “No,” I answer her, carefully folding away all the feelings I have no explanation for and tucking them out of sight. “I won’t destroy your clothes again, but you should get dressed now. You need to get some sleep so you can be alert tomorrow.”
Her eyes blaze. “So I can beusefulto you guys,” she says, venom in her voice. “God, all of you are the same.”
We’re not, but she turns away to take sleeping clothes out of the dresser, so I don’t bother explaining that. Besides, in some ways, as different as Dante and Maddoc and I all are from each other, Riley is actually correct. The three of us share core values. Ones I rarely find in others and that have made it possible for me to trust my brothers the way I don’t with most people.
Ones I also see in Riley.
That thought unsettles the stability I require in my world, so I delete it. In fact, now that I’ve established that I have no logical reason to be here, I should leave.
I don’t.
Riley finishes dressing and glances over me as she pads toward the bed. “Why didn’t you take that wire away from me if you saw me grab it down in the kitchen?”
“Because I wanted to see what you would do,” I answer, her question surprising raw honesty out of me.
“Sadist,” she mutters, climbing into bed and settling herself amongst the pillows.
I cock my head to the side. “No. I don’t enjoy your pain.”
“Don’t you?” she taunts, raising her eyebrows.
I think about it. It’s true that I’ve found hurting her to be both arousing and satisfying, and watching Maddoc belt her was the same. But it wasn’t the pain I enjoyed, it was her reaction to it.
And the fulfillment I found in control of that reaction.
“Go away, Logan,” she says with a huff, closing her eyes before I can decide if I actually want to tell her any of that or not.
I run my eyes over her, noting the sensual way she shifts under the blankets and the way the irritated furrow in her brow draws me in. I really should leave. She needs to sleep. I need to… not be here.
But I don’t.
I don’t trust women, and I haven’t cared to be around them often. Riley is different, though. I’m curious about her. Addicted to trying to figure her out and understand her actions. She doesn’t fit into any of the orderly boxes I typically classify people in, but instead of frustrating me, the ongoing effort of trying to make sense of her feels… invigorating.
Oddly enough, I’m not sure I want to understand her. Not if it means the end of the quest to figure her out.
That’s illogical in the extreme, and the moment I realize it, rage overtakes me. I don’t like feeling out of control, and I can’t remember anyone else who’s made me feel that way as often as she has.
Well, one person. But my mother was a true monster. Riley is something else.
She opens her eyes with a sigh. “You’re still here? Honestly, you could have saved me the trouble of picking the lock on those handcuffs and almost getting shot by Maddoc. Is it some kind of sick game to you?”
“No,” I say, all the rage from a moment ago dissipating like smoke now that her eyes are on me again. “You were very… competent.” I pause, trying to define what I felt, watching her efforts to get away and help her sister. “And brave.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Whatever,” she mutters, looking down.
