9
Liv
I swing my legs over the windowsill, slipping into Cindy’s place like I’ve done a hundred times before.
My feet hit the floor without a sound, but my heart is a different story, hammering in my chest.
This is the last time.
I shouldn’t even be here anymore.
Alessio knows, and now that he knows, I’m screwed.
I glance around the small kitchen, my eyes landing on the kettle on the counter.
The one I’ve been poisoning for weeks.
I swallow hard, guilt twisting my stomach into knots.
Cindy deserves better than this.
Better than me.
I quickly grab the kettle with my trembling hands and tip it over the sink.
The tea swirls down the drain, disappearing as easily as the lies I’ve been telling myself.
The water rushes from the faucet, and I rinse out the pot, scrubbing away the evidence of the sulfate .
I’m done.
No more poisoning Cindy, no more watching her waste away.
Just as I place the clean kettle back on the stove, a faint shuffling sound catches my attention.
I freeze.
My heart feels like it jumped in my throat, and I whip around.
Cindy’s standing in the doorway, or at least what’s left of her.
Her skin is ghostly pale, her eyes sunken, and she looks more like a walking corpse than the woman I first saw weeks ago when I got to Chicago.
For a second, I’m too stunned to move.
“Cindy?” I whisper, taking a cautious step toward her.
She sways and her knees start to buckle, and before I can react, she’s falling.
“Shit!” I barely manage to catch her before she hits the floor, my arms wrapping around her just before her head hits the floor.
I pull her up, almost in a hugging position, to lift her back up.
And just when I think it can’t get any worse—oh God, it does get a lot worse.
Cindy throws up all down my back and ponytail.
I gag instantly, the sour stench hits my nostrils, and makes me want to throw up alongside her.
“Oh my god. Gross!” I groan, my nose wrinkling at the stench.
I can feel the warm vomit soaking through the back of my shirt, clinging to my skin.
If there’s a hell, I’m definitely in it right now.
“Seriously?” I mutter.
I really must have pissed someone off in another life to deserve this.
Cindy mumbles something that sounds like an apology, but she isn’t speaking very clearly, and this really isn’t her fault.
“Okay, okay,” I breathe, trying to keep calm as I help Cindy to the couch, also making sure she doesn’t touch my back or get vomit on herself.
She slumps down into the worn cushion, and her head rolls to the side.
I bend down and lift her legs up so she can lie down comfortably.
When I bend, her warm vomit seeps down to my pants, around my waistline.
Her eyes flutter half-closed like she senses my disgust.
I grab a towel and lean in, gently cleaning her face.
My nose wrinkles with every wipe, the sour smell overpowering my senses, turning my stomach.
After getting Cindy settled with a glass of water, I bolt out of her apartment door, screw the fire escape.
I need to get back to my place now.
I sprint down the hall, finally reaching my door.
I fumble with my stupid keys before I finally shove the door open.
I slam the door shut behind me so hard I’m pretty sure my downstairs neighbors heard me come home .
I need a shower.
Immediately.
The second I’m inside the bathroom, I kick the door shut and rip off my clothes, the wet fabric clinging to my skin, and rush into the shower like I can’t scrub away this night fast enough.
I stand under the scalding water, letting it pour over me, feeling it burn away the vomit, the grime, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of the shame I feel.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been in the shower, but the water is starting to turn cold, snapping me out of my daze.
I turn off the water and grab a towel, wrapping it around my body and stepping out of the shower.
Steam clouds the bathroom, fogging up the mirror.
For a second, I close my eyes and let the heat loosen my tense muscles, pretending everything’s normal.
But nothing in my life is normal, and I can’t stay here any longer.
I open the bathroom door and walk across the small hallway to my bedroom.
The floor is cold beneath my feet, but it’s nothing compared to the icy chill that hits me when I open the bedroom door.
I freeze in the doorway, my breath catching in my throat.
Alessio is sitting in the corner with his sharp blue eyes locked on me, like a predator, and I’m his next meal.
He’s sitting still, almost unnervingly so.
His eyes glare with something unsettling, making the room feel even smaller and more claustrophobic than usual.
“Dammit,” I mumble under my breath, my voice barely audible over my pounding heart.
My mind races, trying to figure out how the hell he got in here while I struggle to keep my composure.
I hold the towel tighter around me, the thin fabric bunching awkwardly like it could really protect me from the beast in front of me.
I want to run, though the idea of dashing through the cold streets of Chicago in just this tiny towel is laughable, but it’s all I’ve got right now.
I swallow hard, clutching the towel tighter around me.
My voice comes out shaky, “W-what are you doing in here?”
Alessio clicks his tongue, a disapproving sound that makes me feel like a kid caught doing something I shouldn’t.
Only then do I notice the light from outside glinting off the blade in his hand.
The deep red gemstone in the hilt shines like fresh blood.
The blade’s curved and looks sharp as hell, built to tear through whatever it touches.
It looks almost like a Ruby’s demon knife, just deadlier.
Alessio spins the blade effortlessly between his fingers, the edge catching the light as it glides over his knuckles, twisting between his fingers.
The motion is so smooth, it’s almost hypnotic.
He never breaks eye contact.
And I really, really wish he would.
“I think I’ll be the one asking the questions, Stalker,” he says, his tone casual but cold.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my stomach coiling tight with something that isn’t quite fear, but it’s pretty damn close.
“Bu—” I don’t even get the word out before Alessio is on his feet.
One second, he’s in the chair.
Next, he’s on me.
A strong, inked hand wraps around my throat, locking me in place.
Heat radiates from his skin, pressing against my near-naked self.
The scent of cinnamon, fresh bergamot, and expensive cologne hits me all at once, erasing the sour stench of Cindy’s gastrointestinal upchuck, which I hadn’t even realized was lingering in my nose.
Then, impact.
My back slams into the wall, hard enough to rattle my bones, to steal my breath.
My hands fly up, grabbing his wrist, but he doesn’t budge.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I fight the instinct to panic, thrash, or do something reckless, because that’s exactly what he wants.
Instead, I force air into my lungs, blinking up at him .
“I said I’ll be the one asking questions,” he growls, pressing his body against mine.
Seriously, why does he have to be so intense?
The heat of his minty breath brushes against my cheek.
Every inch of him is solid muscle, caging me in.
And fuck me, there’s an undeniable ridge poking into my stomach.
I squirm, trying not to focus on that particular detail.
His grip loosens just enough to let me breathe, and that’s all I need to find my bravado.
I tilt my head up, plastering on my best smirk, forcing my voice to sound way more casual than I feel.
“So… what’s up?” I tease, dropping my gaze to the bulge pressing against me.
His jaw ticks.
And just like that, I’ve gone too far.
The second he steps back, I lash out, aiming a kick right where it hurts.
Thank you, Clover, for those self-defense classes.
But Alessio is fast.
Before my foot leaves the ground, his hands clamp onto my shoulders.
I yelp as he spins us, my vision blurring for half a second before my back hits the mattress hard.
He’s on me in seconds, hot, heavy, and all muscle, pinning me in place.
Panic surges up my spine, and my heart is doing back flips.
My fists slam against his chest, my legs kicking, but he barely reacts.
Like, I’m not even a threat .
The towel around me shifts from my frantic movements, showing more of me than I’d like, but honestly, that’s the least of my concerns right now.
He lifts a brow and seems way too amused.
I hate that he’s enjoying this, that he has this kind of control over me.
I force my breathing to slow, pushing back the panic.
Focus, Liv.
I need to outsmart him, I can’t freak out now.
Alessio’s knee wedges between my legs, locking them open so I can’t kick him, while his hand clamps both of my wrists above my head, pinning me into the mattress effortlessly.
The knife is still in his free hand.
Fuck.
My mind is screaming to fight, to wriggle free, to do something, anything—but the heat of his body pressing into mine scrambles my thoughts.
Everything turns to mush.
He’s so damn close.
I can practically taste his breath, feel it ghost across my lips, warm and teasing.
“What the hell are you doing?” I manage, but my voice comes out too breathy, too weak.
The panic I should be feeling is overridden by something worse, something needier.
I’m acutely aware of every ridge, every muscle of his body pressed against mine, the hard lines of his chest rising and falling against me.
Then he shifts, his chest brushing mine.
Shit.
My nipples harden, pebbling against him, my body reacting like a needy little slut instead of someone who should be focused on survival.
Maybe I hit my head too hard against the wall.
Because there’s no other explanation for what’s happening inside me right now.
Alessio leans in, his breath warm against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
“Tell me why you were looking into me, Stalker,” he growls, and dammit, he’s too damn close.
I squirm.
“Get off me,” I murmur, trying to thrust up, push him away, anything to create some kind of space between us.
But it only makes things worse.
I’m struggling, trying to wriggle free, but every shift heightens whatever the hell this is.
His closeness, his heat, the weight of his body pressing me down, it’s too much.
Way too much.
His eyes burn into me, dragging over my body, making me hyper-aware of my nakedness.
And he’s looking.
His grip on my wrists tightens, not painfully, but just enough to remind me I’m at his mercy .
“I think this is turning you on,” he murmurs, the smirk on his face is so damn smug I want to slap it off.
I roll my eyes, “Don’t be so full of yourself,” I shoot back, doing my best to hide the confusion I feel.
My breath catches, my body feels tense, bracing for whatever comes next.
I expect some crude remark, some cocky quip meant to get under my skin.
But he doesn’t speak.
Instead, he reaches for the towel and pulls it open.
Heat floods my face.
His eyes drop, dragging over every inch of newly exposed skin, and I catch the slow flick of his tongue over his lips like he’s savoring the view.
He’s taking his time, committing this to a core memory.
Even though I’m completely confused and annoyed by how much I’m drawn to this whole messed-up situation, I can’t ignore the way my body is totally betraying what my mind is screaming.
I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of it, trying to grab onto any shred of control I have left.
A sudden surge of defiance pushes past the haze, and I meet his gaze, my chin lifting.
“Nothing you could do is gonna turn me on, asshole.”
His lips curl into a slow, mocking smirk.
“No?” he taunts, licking his bottom lip.
His eyes flick down and back up, locking onto mine like he already knows the answer.
“Then what’s this?”
The faint clink of metal fully grabs my attention just before I see Alessio flicking the knife open with that effortless confidence that annoys me.
Before I can even process what’s happening, he grips the handle, and then he drags the blade lower down my stomach.
Oh .
Oh no.
He slides the handle between my pussy lips, and I jolt so hard you’d think I got electrocuted, my body betraying me before I can even pretend I’m in control of a damn thing.
Heat rushes to my skin like someone flipped a switch I didn’t know existed.
The cold steel and carved ridges hit the exact spot that makes my breath stutter and my brain glitch out completely.
This is twisted, fucked-up foreplay, and my body’s acting like it loves every second of it.
“Oh no,” I gasp, my legs instinctively pressing together, but it’s no use with his massive body between mine.
He’s got me exactly where he wants me.
My body tenses while the smooth end teases my most sensitive spot.
He watches me, really watches me, with a knowing smirk.
“Still think I can’t turn you on, stalker?”
I bite my lip hard, forcing myself to snap out of it.
But the smug glint in his eyes tells me I’m too late .
“Fuck, this feels good.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
I hate that he’s right, and I hate that I want this, that my body is betraying me in the worst fucking way.
A low, shaky moan spills from my lips, completely unfiltered.
Just what I don’t need—me betraying…
me.
My cheeks burn with humiliation, but it’s nothing compared to my throbbing, overstimulated pussy, begging for a release.
It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten laid, so much so that I’m damn near ready to take a weapon just for a bit of stimulation.
I try to turn my head, desperate for anything other than his eyes on me.
But I can’t.
My arms are pinned above me, holding me in place.
There’s no escaping him, no dodging the rush of pleasure that’s swallowing me whole.
Alessio’s eyes darken as he lifts the knife’s handle, now glistening with my juices.
A slow, cocky smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Such a dirty little stalker, aren’t you?” he taunts.
Oh, fuck him.
This infuriating bastard is doing this on purpose, trying to get a rise out of me.
My lips part, ready to fire back with something sharp and sarcastic, but nothing comes out.
Just a shaky, traitorous breath.
I shake my head, furious with myself, with him, with this whole fucked-up situation .
Alessio moves the blade, trailing slowly down the valley of my breasts.
Cold metal moves against overheated skin, but not cutting me…
yet.
A thrill of danger dances through me as I feel the sharp edge, heightening my awareness of every nerve ending.
He drags the blade lower, the cool edge teasing over my stomach until I suck in a breath.
When he reaches my hips, he stops just long enough to flip the knife with the handle toward me now.
Alessio never breaks eye contact.
The ruby rivets glide over my skin like a tease, skimming across my clit before settling lower.
Then…
God help me, it’s in, and I’m suddenly aware of how my hypersensitive body is acting like a needy little bitch, demanding more.
I bite back a moan, but my hips are traitors, arching into the pressure with zero shame.
Like my body decides, yeah, this is happening , and forgot to loop me in.
Fuck it, if I’m going to die tonight, at least I’ll go out on a high.
The tension coils low in my belly with every roll of my hips, my breath quickening as undeniable pleasure takes over.
When I feel the bolster inside me, I gasp and my back arches off the bed.
Alessio releases my hands and thrusts in and out of my pussy at a brutal pace.
My mouth falls open and my pussy clenches around the cold steel.
Fuck, I’m so close.
Damn, does it feel good.
Heat radiates between my legs, building with every thrust.
I’m breathing fast and ragged, the pleasure is too intense to deny.
My hips buck against him, matching his hard rhythm, and I can’t help but cry out.
With every thrust, I grow more desperate, chasing a release that feels just out of reach.
Every ounce of common sense I have disappears as I get lost in the moment, caught up in the pleasure he’s giving me.
The beast himself is fucking me with a knife.
Overriding the voice in my head screaming for me to stop.
But the look in his eyes and the tent in his pants tells me he’s enjoying this, too.
The pleasure builds and builds, my stomach tightening, my whole body teetering on the edge.
Ecstasy coils tight in my belly, each stroke sending me higher.
I’m so close, I can taste it.
Then, he stops.
What the actual fuck?
A choked gasp escapes me as he slowly pulls the blade out, leaving me aching and desperate for a release.
My hips jerk, my body chasing the friction that’s suddenly gone.
But it’s too late.
The release I was seconds from crashing into is gone, just like that .
A whimper slips out before I can stop it, and I hate myself for it.
I should be pissed.
I should be snapping at him, flipping him off, telling him to go straight to hell.
But then he lifts the blade to my face.
My heart races, my breath catches, caught between wanting to scream and needing to beg.
“Suck it clean,” he commands, pushing the knife to my lips.
I open my mouth without thinking, lips parting, tongue flicking out to taste myself on the cold steel.
I swirl my tongue slowly around the embedded stones, the smooth edges feel hard against my lips.
This sends a fresh wave of humiliation through me, but I don’t stop.
Alessio watches me unblinking.
“Good stalker,” he says before closing the knife and slipping it back into his pocket.
I swallow hard, pushing down the lump forming in my throat.
My body is still trembling from just how close he had me and how easily he controlled me.
The second he pulled away, it was like being doused in ice water, ripped from the high, and left hanging from whatever the hell that was.
My breath stutters, my skin still burns where he touched me.
Only now, it feels like a brand, one I didn’t ask for.
My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to shove him and demand answers, but I don’t.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel.
His expression is unreadable, his blue eyes no longer the wildfire that consumed me moments ago.
Now they’re cold and detached like I’m nothing more than a momentary distraction he decided to toss aside, which is probably true, but the shift is brutal.
That heat I needed, the fire that kept me anchored to something, is gone.
And without it, I feel raw, laid bare in the worst way possible.
My body knows it before my brain does—an ache curling in my chest, a twisting knot of something too close to panic.
I can’t let him see it.
I can’t let him see me fall apart.
“Nothing I do will turn you on?” he taunts, and my stomach turns.
“You’re dripping cunt tells another story. It’s practically begging to be fucked, even with the same knife I came in here to kill you with.”
Kill me?
How the fuck did I let this happen?
I want to say something, anything, but the words are stuck in my throat like Cindy’s bitter bile.
I feel sick, not just at him but at myself.
I’m disgusting and dirty and need another shower.
I instinctively pull away, trying to cover myself as if that could shield me from the heat of embarrassment washing over me.
Stay calm, Liv.
Patience is key here, even if my heart is about to explode.
I take a slow breath, forcing my spine to straighten even as my heartbeat pounds erratically against my ribs.