Chapter 1 #2
“No…it’s new. It’s us. This is our selection process, love.
” And it’s goddamn sexy as hell. I drag my hand up her thigh, her thin, little skirt nearly ripping under my palm.
“You’ve been selecting your victims for a long time, London.
” I guide her head with my cheek, our eyes scanning the crowd. “Trust your instincts.”
Like a radar, my soul recognizes other black souls. I can spot them in a crowd. Zeroing in on that indefinable thing that makes us alike. Same.
Killers.
London has also this ability. It’s what makes her so damn good at her job. Sensing the dark thread woven through a killer’s psyche. Pulling that thread until it unravels. Fraying the end until she has him wrapped around her finger.
She’s an artist.
I take her hand in mine, running my thumb over her finger as I seek the groove marks that wrap her flesh. They’re deeper now, as though she’s spent hours twisting her little string around and around, tightening it until her finger throbbed.
My jaw flexes. Our time apart hasn’t just been torturous for me.
Her shoulders tense. “Some things never change.” She presses back, sending a thrill through my whole being.
I slip a hand beneath her skirt, and her thighs squeeze together as I roam up her inner thigh. She rolls her head across my chest, entranced. As London grinds against me, setting my senses aflame, I tease her panties aside, seeking the proof of her arousal.
Her stimulation is evident in her heated flesh—her soaked panties. “Fuck,” I groan harshly, my teeth gritting against the need to take her.
Self-control is what has kept me hidden this long.
Another reason I had to leave London cuffed to the trap as my lair blazed into the early morning sky.
She makes me fucking reckless.
My erection pushes painfully against my dark denim.
I’m tempted to dig the switchblade out of my pocket and trail the steel blade up the curve of her ass and slice her panties away.
Become a loosed animal. Wild and feral. I want to drag her over the nearest table and fuck her in front of everyone here.
My adrenaline crashes against my arteries, blood roaring inside my head.
As her hips expertly roll across my restrained cock, she raises her hands above her head and dips low, sinfully sliding her body down mine like the seductive goddess she is.
Proving I’m just a mere mortal in her divine presence.
A dark growl works its way free. She’s breaking me.
I’ve never danced with anyone before. Never had the chance. Never craved the experience.
Until her.
London makes me desperate to taste everything I’ve missed, taste it all for the first time with her.
“Touch me,” she whispers, taking my hands and bringing my arms around her slim waist.
The raging fire within smolders into a slow burn as I relax against her. My deviant lover, and yet, still my sound psychologist. She knows what I need.
Because of her, I no longer require the pain that has always correlated with pleasure. Never one without the other. My body wears the scars of every agonizing slash I inflicted while my victims suffered.
“We can be free,” she says, tempting me further.
And like that, the tension coiling my spine snaps, releasing the pent-up aggression. My hand collars her throat as she pushes her ass up against my groin. Fucking Christ. Another low growl is worked free.
Sweet. Fucking. Perfection.
We can be free. Free to experience every beautiful sensation that was denied to the both of us.
The music crescendos as multicolored lights swirl amid the smoke-filled room. We’re hidden beneath the haze of it all—a part of the scene. And yet, we’re right out in the open, above every boring fuck here, taking what we want. Owning this life.
We are gods.
I push her fake blond hair aside so I can claim her skin. My teeth sink into her shoulder, my fingers branding her thigh as I force her closer, rocking against her harder and faster, desperate to be inside her with each hungry thrust.
Her soft moans vibrate against my chest. “Choose,” I tell her again, my voice a dark rasp.
And fucking hell, as her gaze drifts around the club, searching for her victim, she goddamn soaks my hand nestled between her thighs.
“Him,” London says.
Gaze narrowed, I locate her victim straight away.
He’s easy to spot, since I noticed him, too.
I draw London even closer as I watch the guy dressed in a sleazy metallic V-neck grab a short blonde by the arm.
He doesn’t manhandle her; not bold enough to draw attention.
But his intentions are clear in his rigid frame.
“Perfect,” I say.
With difficulty, I separate from London, putting enough space between us to adjust myself with a dejected groan. I’m still too tempted to pick her up and take her right up against the wall of this club.
Her sound of protest sends a fiery ache down the length of my body, and I turn her around and pin her to the brick, breaths searing my chest. “I promise, love, the filthy things I’m going to do to you…” I trail off before I come entirely undone.
Her eyes glisten with lust as she gazes up at me, then she kisses my neck with the softest caress. I bite my lip, letting the pain ground me. “Don’t make me wait. Again.” She slips under my arm, and I catch her hand.
“Make a scene, baby,” I say, letting her fingers go one at a time.
I brace my hands behind my neck as I lean against the wall. London’s hips sway, effortless sex appeal radiating off her like a neon sign inviting every man here to take notice.
London is sex. She’s sultry sophistication. Breathtaking. But London in disguise, with smoldering makeup and tight, formfitting clothes, is downright evil. If I didn’t already know what masquerades beneath, I’d have no willpower to deny her.
Fuck, I have zero willpower now.
Our target has little chance in escaping her snare. She stumbles right up to him, placing her hands on his chest. A drunken display as she laughs off her embarrassment. She’s too sloppy to stand on her own, using his arm to keep herself upright.
He offers her his drink, and she woozily waves it away. She’s had enough. His dark eyes gleam in the bouncing lights. She gives him one more drunken stroke along the arm before she staggers off.
His gaze never leaves her backside.
He glances around the club, taking note of anyone who could’ve witnessed their interaction before he sets his drink on the bar with a crisp bill. Within seconds, he heads toward the exit after London.
I push off the wall. Keeping my distance, I follow him through the club and out into the humid summer night.
My pulse speeds with lust for the hunt, my adrenaline surging with the power.
Alive.
The feeling only a truly free person can feel.
London is the music awakening my soul. She’s the reason my heart beats. I’m alive for her—I’m free because of her, and now we’re unstoppable.