Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
It all happens so fast—within a blink.
The man’s screams echo in the confined space of the alley but are drowned out by the bars and all their loud music. Reon gives him the same treatment as his buddy, punching him in the throat and cutting off his screaming. The guy drops to the ground on his knees, and his hands go to his stomach, not touching the knife, just clutching the area around it.
“I told you to close your eyes,” Reon says with a grin, and I find his eyes trained on me.
“Your fingerprints will be on that knife,” I tell him as I step closer. When I reach him, he looks down at me. I rise up onto my tippy-toes, and he just smirks as I kiss the corner of his mouth, not fully touching it. He hasn’t made a move to kiss me, and I want him to do that first.
“I thought you were going to let them hurt me.” His eyes flick to my lips as if he is considering kissing me. But his hand, the same one that just incapacitated two men, touches my face. Gently. A wave of disappointment hits me that he doesn’t kiss me.
“Why would I do something like that?” he replies.
I have no answer to give, so instead, I turn around to the man with the knife in his stomach. I reach down and clasp the handle as I look over my shoulder back to Reon. I see something in his eyes as he looks to where my hand is, then back to my eyes.
“If I pulled this out, would it kill him?” I ask Reon. The guy makes a sound, but I ignore him. He dares not move with my hand on the handle.
“Yes, Caterpillar, he would more than likely bleed to death.” A smirk touches his lips, and it’s then that realization hits. Somehow, during a night that should have left me completely broken, I’ve found someone who happens to have the same twisted, fucked-up character as my own. He just knows how to mask it better.
Turning back, I look down as the guy silently pleads with his eyes, and I get lost in the pain that stares back at me.
Leaning in so my lips almost touch his ear, I say, “I should thank you, really, for what you have shown me tonight, and you are lucky you get to keep your cock after what you had planned.”
The one guy who was holding the knife makes a gargled sound.
“I could let you cut it off if you wish,” Reon offers.
I suck in a breath, pulling away as the guy’s eyes go wide.
“Could you imagine the amount of blood there would be if I did?” How long would that wound take to kill him? My hand moves, and the guy’s hands fall to mine. He tries to pry my fingers free, but my grip on the knife is secure.
“I bet you wish you weren’t such a pig now. Wanting to what? Rape and hurt women.” I tsk at him. “Why are so many men lying, cheating pigs?”
“Caterpillar,” Reon says from behind me.
“It’s true,” I tell him, not looking away from the one who still has a hold of me. His hands feel slimy, but he knows if he hurts me, the knife in his stomach will hurt him more.
The power, the rush of it, is unlike any high I have ever experienced.
And I have tried most drugs.
Chased most highs.
But I think this is my favorite.
“It seems you’re enjoying this a little too much, and while I hate to dim that light shining in your eyes, we need to go before someone walks around here,” Reon says.
I stare into the creep’s eyes.
I wonder if he can see that this is the first time I have felt truly alive.
How fucked-up my head is.
I grin at him. “I liked this outcome more than the one you had planned.” I glance at the guy. “This one is really much more in my favor, wouldn’t you agree?” I pull on the knife, and it slides out of his stomach. The man groans in pain, blood flowing through the fingers pressed to his wound.
What is he thinking right now?
Is he worried he might die?
Ha.
Serves him right.
Stupid asshole.
I feel Reon come up beside me. He takes the knife, wiping it off on the guys’ clothes, and stuffs it into his jacket pocket. I watch as he pulls out a handkerchief, wiping the blood from my hands. Droplets have splattered onto my skin, and he tenderly wipes them away. Pressing a kiss to my palm before he slides the handkerchief back where he pulled it from.
“It’s time we go home.”
“But I’m not tired,” I argue. No, I feel the best I’ve felt in a long time.
Invigorated. Energized. Stimulated.
“Who said anything about going home to sleep?”