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Mick stands there, chest heaving, eyes on fire. His face and clothes are covered in blood. My eyes move slowly up and down until meeting his gaze. He doesn’t take a step toward me, instead he slowly shrugs out of his shirt, dropping it to the floor. I lick my lips as I watch the fabric flutter down and land pooled next to his bloody boots. He kicks those off next, along with his socks. Reaching around, he unbuttons his jeans and pulls the zipper down achingly slowly. I can feel the movement of his fingers as if he’s caressing my skin.
I shudder and bring my glass to my lips, taking a large gulp. Mick watches the motion of my throat as I swallow, his eyes darkening. Lowering the glass down, I set it on the table with a loud thud, the remaining liquid splashing around. He rakes his eyes over my body, gazing at each inch of my skin with a growing hunger. When he lifts his eyes back to mine, I stare him down, muster all of the courage I have, and shake my head.
The reaction is immediate.
Mick moves so fast I almost don’t get out of the chair in time before he’s crashing into the table. I shriek and throw the rest of my drink into his face. He howls in rage, wiping his eyes to remove the alcohol. Taking the opportunity, I sprint toward the small bathroom on the other side of the living room and kick the door shut behind me. I fling myself against the door as I hear him come barreling over.
“Open this door right now, Paige.” He thunders, fist pounding against the wood.
I’m shaking so hard my teeth are rattling but I won’t do this again. I’m not going to allow him to use my body as some reward to whatever fucked up shit he’s involved in. Sucking in a breath, I will my voice to sound strong. “No. Fuck off Mick.” I snap.
He roars and pounds on the door again. “I’m serious, sweetheart. Open this door now or face the consequences.” I gulp. I’m still recovering from his last punishment but I refuse to give in. Not in this. “Paige.” He warns again.
Shaking my head, I slump back against the door, sinking to the floor and bracing my feet against the vanity. “No! Take your mobster ass back out and find someone else to fuck out your bloody victory.”
Mick stops pounding on the door and it goes eerily silent. I hold my breath, afraid of what he’s going to do. I didn’t mean for that to come out, but he did come home bloody again, so my stripper theory is basically out the window.
Unless he’s a secret assassin stripper. Well, fuck, I didn’t think of that and now I have to stand by what I said.
Abruptly, I hear Mick burst out in laughter. There’s a thump on the other side of the door and the laughter grows. I stand and creak open the door, gripping the handle and keeping my body shielded behind the wood. Peaking out I see Mick slumped on the ground, hand on his stomach as he laughs and laughs. Feeling embarrassed and irritated, I slip out and place my hands on my hips. “What’s so damn funny?” I demand, glaring down at him.
Mick looks up at me and wipes tears away with his hand, face lit up with amusement. “Fuck Paige. I’m not part of the mob.” He chuckles, “Where did that even come from?” Raising both his eyebrows he peers up at me, a grin on his face.
My lips twitch in response as I force back a smile. I shrug, “I dunno. You always come home sweaty and exhausted. I’ve had a lot of time on my hands so I’ve been trying to figure out what you do all day. I had narrowed it down to a stripper,” Mick’s laughter returns in full force and I huff, waiting for him to calm down. He waves a hand in apology and gestures for me to continue. “Like I was saying, either a stripper or a mobster.” I shrug again. “I didn’t think you were glittery enough for a stripper and not bloody enough for being part of the mob but then you showed up like this,” I gesture toward his bloodied appearance and the discarded clothes by the door, “And remembered the last time you showed up like that and, well, you know. It made the most sense.” I look away, wringing my hands.
If that’s not it, what is he doing? And why does it involve so much blood?
Mick pushes himself to his feet and walks to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You have quite the imagination.” He snickers, eyes alight with mirth. “But I can promise you, I’m not dancing or killing for money. And I don’t belong to any organized crime or answer to anyone for that matter.” He presses a kiss to my hair and inhales.
I tilt my head back, gazing up at him. “What do you do then?” I whisper, unsure if I want the answer.
He studies me, debating his response. I can see the moment he decides to give in. Sighing, he squeezes me before answering. “My day job is construction. I actually own the company so I don’t always do the hard labor but have found a need to use some of this pent up tension and the guys can always use another set of hands.”
I consider the information and give a nod of my head as I deem it plausible. Mick stares at the wall, avoiding looking directly at me. Nudging his arm, I bring his attention back to me as I urge him to continue. “And the blood?” I quietly question.
Mick’s muscles tense as he tightens his arms. The grip he has makes me wonder if he thinks the answer will make me run away if given the chance. I have a feeling he may be right.
Looking at the ceiling, he takes a deep breath then snaps his focus back to me and blurts out in a rush, “That’s for me. To satisfy my…needs.” I look at him quizzically, waiting for an explanation. “I have this…need. For blood. I first discovered it on accident years ago and have since perfected my ability to seek people out and ease the hunger.” My eyes widen and my body freezes. An uneasy feeling begins to slither under my skin, the hairs on my arm prickling in response. “It’s a long process and can take weeks and lots of careful planning. I set everything up and wait for the perfect moment to act when no one will be able to tie anything back to me. It’s worked for me so far.” He shrugs.
I’m pretty sure he’s admitting to being a serial killer and the fucker fuckingshrugs.
Sensing he’s losing me, Mick quickly continues. “I’m careful, you don’t have to worry about someone coming here or asking questions. I’m so good I’ve been given my own nickname.” He smirks, smugness emanating from him as he divulges the name. “The Blood Shadow.”
I choke on my breath.
He’s the Blood Shadow? The man who kidnapped me, tortured me, and has given my body so much pleasure is the Blood Shadow?
Shaking my head furiously, I refuse to believe it.
Serial killers are social pariahs and have missing teeth or like a third eye or something. Mick seems too normal. Too well-adjusted. Aside from all the fucked up shit he’s pulled with me.
I extract myself from his arms and start pacing.
It does kind of make sense. And would explain a lot. But…
I stop and look over at him.
What’s the reasoning? All the people,the victims, were random. At least according to the newspapers. But he’s saying he plans them out for weeks. It doesn’t make any sense.
