Chapter 10 Kateřina #2
“You say my soul is pure when you compare it to yours?” I hiss, feeling the anger sizzling inside me again.
He looks down at me, tilting his head to the side, and smirks wickedly. Instantly, I regret what I said. What if he snaps again? “I-I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“What?”
He lowers his head and steps closer, towering over me with an intimidating expression. He gently grips my chin and raises my head to meet his gaze.
“You’re sorry for what?”
“For talking like that to you.” Shit, Kate?ina. Why did you say it?
“You are allowed to say whatever you like, sugar. Talking nicely is not one of the rules.”
“Sugar?” I whisper, my lashes flickering.
He slips his hand on my nape and softly pulls me closer. “When I see you or think of you, all I want to do is stick my tongue inside you and lick you until you melt under my touch.”
I gulp. His thumb brushes over my lower lip while his other hand grips my hair tightly, and he brings his lips to my ear.
“I want to shove my cock so deeply into you that you’ll squeal with anguish and pleasure. And just when you think you can’t take me any further, I’ll push harder to show you how much deeper your little pussy can take me.”
My heart hammers in my chest, and my breath comes fast. Why do I start picturing what he just said? Why do I want to hear more? My mind says it’s wrong, but my body … my body shudders under his touch. I feel weak, listening to his gruff and commanding voice.
No, I need to restrain myself.
“You’re crossing the line. You don’t have the right to talk to me like that.”
“There’s a thin line between crossing your limits and pushing your boundaries, Kate?ina.” He bites his lower lip. “And I’d gladly do both.”
He lets go of me and moves away. God, what was that?
“Do you like the piano?” He settles onto the bench.
I clear my throat again, attempting to hide his effect on me. “Yeah, I like it.” His fingers slowly press the keys, creating a melody. “You know how to play?” I ask.
“My mother taught me,” he says, and a bright and genuine smile lacing his well-shaped lips.
Even monsters have mothers and fathers. However, he’s just piqued my interest. I stand and walk closer to him. His fingers graze the buttons softly as if he were trying to feel the vibrations and the melody underneath them. He closes his eyes and presses the first notes.
My eyes widen. He grins softly and continues playing. The melody is so tender that it could guide even the darkest soul closer to heaven. How can a savage man like him know a beautiful melody like this?
I feel … captivated.
Torn.
Frustrated.
Tonight, he’s an entirely different person.
He’s the man I initially thought he was.
The gentleman—a handsome stranger who intrigued me from the very first moment I laid eyes on him.
And playing the piano makes him feel different.
I can see it. He is relaxed. His facial expression is serene, as if the melody washes away all of his darkness.
He melts into the music he plays. He becomes one with it.
He diverts his eyes to me, and his expression calms even more.
How can he do that? How can he be a two-faced bastard?
And not only that, but his two personalities are completely contradictory.
My heart is fleeting under his serene gaze.
This man can make my heart race for many different reasons.
And then, the song ends, and the pleasant ambiance around us remains.
“You never fail to amaze me.” I couldn’t help but say that. He chuckles, keeping his intense gaze on me. Damn it, I shouldn’t be so open. “I mean, you play very well.”
“Likewise, little rose. You never fail to amaze me.” He picks up the glass and sips his whiskey again. “You haven’t touched yours.” I look down at it and contemplate. “Ah, I see.” He stands and prowls around me. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already by now.”
“Are you a killer?” I whisper. I tremble to hear his answer, though I know it.
He swallows. “Yes.”
“Why?”
He halts right in front of me and peers down at me. “Because it brings me peace. Justice.”
“How can you say that?”
“You don’t know what it feels like.” He takes a deep breath. “Having control over someone’s life. Holding its thread in your hands. It makes you feel—”
“Like God?”
“Strong. Fearless.”
And just like that, in an instant, I see his real face again. My terror simmers inside me. “What made you like this?”
He stares at the fireplace, his gaze getting lost in the flame. “My brother’s death.” He sips. “And it felt so good when I chopped off his filthy head and buried it with my own hands.”
What? My body numbs and the glass slips from my grip and falls to the floor. He doesn’t even flinch, as if he knew what my reaction would be like.
He killed his brother?
I don’t talk; besides, what could I say?
“Your pants are stained,” he says calmly, his eyes fixed elsewhere as he takes a sip of his own.
“I need to go.” I stride toward my bedroom. I want to hide from him. I want to escape this madness.
I enter the closet and take off my jeans in an attempt to get rid of the smell of whiskey that is all over me. I toss them on the ground, leaving only my lace underwear and my white shirt on, and grab the knife again. I feel safe with it; I need to have it close to me at all times. He is a madman.
I can’t believe what he just said. I can’t believe what he’s done. How can someone murder his brother?
I walk out of the closet and gasp.
“What are you doing in here?”