Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Even more? I know him.
I whisper the first thing that comes to mind. “I should have killed you.”
Shadows darken under his features. “Then do it now.”
His focus drops to my lips as his fingers find the side of my face.
I try to twist free, but he tightens his hold, wrenching my face back to his. A single grip around my chin shouldn’t hold this much force, and for the second time since arriving, I question exactly who I’m dealing with.
Our closeness lights up every nerve, and I don’t know whether it’s the poison of being this close to one another or because we both react better to violence, but every second feels longer than the last.
“You left me, at that house, to, what, Venom? Go where?” His thigh brushes my inner one. “And if you even think of slipping out from me right now, I’ll bend you over and fuck you how I should kill you.”
Heat flares through me.
Stop thinking this is attractive.
I lift a challenging brow. “And what position is that, exactly?”
His thumb presses against my racing pulse, slowly tracing my cheekbone until my nails curl into my palms.
He leans closer. “The kind you don’t come back from.” He shoves me against the basin. “You’re a fucking liar, Venom.”
“Which lie are we talking about?” I narrow my eyes, flames flickering beneath my collar. “Because if I remember right, we already settled that bill.”
He stays where he is, his body angled toward mine.
I need to be careful with my next words.
“I never lied about everything.” My chin lifts, throat exposed and I’m fucking stupid for it. “You know who I am, Asher, but you don’t know what I do.”
Stepping forward, I hold his stare, the gap between us thinning with each inch. “Why haven’t you asked why I did it?”
My voice drops. “You came to La Journée du...”
His palm slams over my mouth before I finish, his arm rigid.
He is not about to silence me.
I whack him out of the way, squaring my shoulders. “You never asked why Parker? Why he was a job that took so long to complete? Or how about this? How did you know him?”
Nothing I say shocks him as he keeps his expression flat.
“Jesus,” I whisper, mourning the boy I once knew. The one who laughed. The one who broke through every foundation I ever had and set up there like he was the architect of my soul.
He blinks. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I snap, annoyed at everything.
Jesus Christ he’s perfection. That mouth should be illegal. Dark lashes throw shadows over eyes like cracked ice, and those cheekbones…
His tongue swipes his lower lip. “Like you don’t enjoy how it feels to be fucking hunted for once.”
My skin prickles.
He doesn’t stop. “Like you didn’t want me to chase you all the way to that cute little safehouse in the Cayos.”
Every argument we’ve hurled at each other, every bitter word, every accusation. It all collapses into this single moment, and I hate him.
I want to destroy him.
I want to crawl inside his skin and never leave.
He tilts his head. “Come here.”
The ground drops from under me. Two words and I’m done for.
I don’t move, so he threads his fingers through mine.
Warmth floods through me, all the way down to my toes.
I should push him off, push all of this away, but guilt keeps me locked in place.
Brushing my hair back, he cups my chin and lifts my face to his. Then his mouth crashes onto mine.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him without thinking. He tastes like rage and want and every fucking thing. The kiss deepens until everything else goes quiet, until my fingers claw at his shirt just to stay upright.
He buries his hand in my hair, fisting it tight enough to make my eyes water. Wrenching my head back with a tug, he tears himself away, both of us gasping, his forehead dropping against mine.
“Fuck.” He drags his teeth across my bottom lip, the gesture so gentle I gasp. Whatever words he’s searching for scatter between us.
Dazed and drunk, the room spins around me. “What are you doing?”
“I need you to pay attention to my next words.” His lips skim mine, soft, familiar… mine. Shit. No, not mine. He lied. He dragged someone away…
“And if I tell you to go fuck yourself?” I pant, my mouth still burning with the aftertaste of him.
His grip tightens, holding me in place. “Then I’d tell you to come do it yourself.”
My complaints die when the hard ridge of his cock swells against me.
I drag my bottom lip into my mouth. “I’m better at fucking you than I am at shooting you, clearly.”
Something flickers across his face before he clears his thoughts. “You need to follow my lead.”
Everything in me pulls taut. What does he mean follow his lead?