Chapter 7 #2
I use his distraction as an opportunity to launch another attack. Only, I’m the one who ends up getting suplexed to the ground this time. Growling, I scramble to grab his legs and keep him down with me.
An aggressive fight for dominance unfurls. We roll in the dirt and rubble, kicking up clouds of dust. I refuse to lose, even if it’s becoming evident he’s had just as much self-defense training as me, if not more, with the calm, methodical way he escapes my holds.
Rev pins me flat on my back, securing my wrists above my head with his hands. His face is positioned too close to mine. His legs press tightly against my sides like a vise.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” I shout.
He squeezes my wrists tighter. “I’m not playing when it comes to your safety, Dante.”
I try to buck him off, but all this manages to do is bring the hard parts of our bodies together. The contact has his pupils expanding like a shark in blood-tinged water.
“I hate you,” I spit out.
SIXX aren’t his to kill. They ruined my life. Destroyed my family. Stole something from Laz and me that we will never get back.
Papi is gone. He’s fucking gone, just like Mamá.
Heat prickles behind my eyes. Squirming, I fight tooth and nail to get free. It’s hopeless. I’m tired. I feel helpless. I feel like I’m being held down in that closet again, unable to do anything, as my father was murdered.
A tear slips from my eye. I struggle harder to slip a hand out of his hold to wipe it away before he can see it, but I’m unsuccessful. His eyes trail its path down my cheek. When he goes to swipe at it, I jerk my head away. “Don’t.”
He grips my chin and guides my face back to him. His expression is cold, but his voice is soft when he says, “No more of this carelessness, Dante. Let me be your grim reaper.”
I swallow, hating the part of me that wants to give in. That wants to let him take on all of my problems. My trauma. My insecurities.
My weakness.
“You give me the names, and I’ll end them,” he says darkly.
It’s fucked, but I believe him. I’ve witnessed one SIXX death by his hands. If he was telling the truth about bleeding out the other, then he’s already eliminated two of them.
I believe him, and yet I turn into his hand and sink my teeth into his flesh out of instinct.
“Shit.” He reels back with a hiss. I brace for him to hit me or pull out his gun and feed me the steel barrel.
Instead, his weight fully settles on my hips as his head falls back on a delighted laugh. “I’ve finally found my match, haven’t I?”
“Don’t touch me again,” I say forcefully.
When his eyes fall back on me, they’re more black than blue. He tugs down his mask, smearing blood from the cut I put there. My chest tightens at the sight of it. The wound may be shallow, but it’s still oozing blood.
His mouth lifts on one side. “You touched me first, baby boy.”
“Told you not to call me that.”
“How about murder kitten, then? Show me those claws.”
I shake my head. “You’re a psycho.”
“So I’ve been told. Makes me better at my job.”
We stare each other down, and then his gaze moves to my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to calm my breathing. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this worked up. This overwhelmed with desire.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Communication, Dante. Why what?”
“Why stop me?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I regretfully open my eyes to look up at his intense expression. “Because I’ve witnessed what spilling blood can do to a soul, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to save you from more pain in this life.”
My mouth parts. No words fall out. I’m pissed at this entire situation, but I’m also confused by this unwarranted care from him.
He rises to his feet and holds his hand out to me. “Come on, murder kitten. I’ll call someone to take you home.”
Smacking his hand away, I roll upright on my own. “Don’t want your handouts.”
“Either you accept the ride, or I walk you home again. Your choice.” He pulls out his phone, swiftly tapping away on the screen.
Fire crackles through me. It doesn’t sound like he’s giving me much of a choice. But I’d rather not give him the opportunity to rile me up anymore, so I mutter, “Ride.”
“Good boy.”
Pulse spiking with anger, I press my blade to his throat, right above the bunched-up material of his mask that I ruined. He calmly pockets his phone.
“Quit with that shit, or I’ll cut deeper next time,” I threaten.
“You know how long I’ve been waiting for someone to hurt me?” His voice is so low and seductive, it curls my toes in my shoes.
Fuck, he’s twisted.
Something moves in my peripheral vision. I spin around immediately, knife raised in defense. It’s another man in tactical gear, no mask, though. He’s got a nice face, highlighted by laugh lines and soft, deep blue eyes.
“Hey, bossman. This my cargo?”
“This is Dante,” Rev answers smoothly.
The man walks over, a hand extended toward me as if I’m not holding a weapon. “Hey, man. I’m Forest.”
Seething, I reply, “Didn’t ask.”
The corners of Forest’s eyes crinkle as he lets out a breezy laugh. When I look back at Rev, his glacial eyes shine with humor.
Pocketing my knife, I tug up my hood and walk toward the staircase. “Whatever. We’re done here.”
I regret being the first one out the front door. Not only is the wind vengeful, slicing through my clothes, but the body of the SIXX is still bleeding on the sidewalk.
Stomach churning, I turn away.
The headlights of a sleek black SUV parked nearby flash as the door behind me creaks open.
“...discuss details tomorrow morning,” Rev says.
“You promised donuts and coffee at the next 8 a.m. meeting,” Forest replies.
I glance back at them, trying to bury the thought of how good Rev looks in his chaotic state.
“We’ll see if you survive the drive home.” Rev looks at me and winks. “Night, murder kitten.”
My brows furrow. Is he not riding with us?
Forest takes a wide berth around me as he walks toward the SUV. I stalk after him and climb into the passenger seat. Slouching against the door, I cross my arms over my chest in a closed-off position.
“Rough night?” Forest asks as he slides behind the wheel.
I don’t bother answering, and I hate myself a little more for it. I don’t like the way I act most of the time, but it’s like I physically can’t get the words out sometimes. Like I can’t force my body to respond. Neurons aren’t firing.
Shit is broken inside me, I swear it.
“No talking. Cool.” Forest drums his hands on the wheel. “You mind some tunes? The silence makes me itch.”
“Your car,” I mutter, pressing my forehead against the chilled window to signal that I’m done with the conversation.
Forest sings quietly along with some jazzy music while driving.
Meanwhile, I watch the cityscape rushing by, lost in thought about a silver-haired man I shouldn’t give a single fuck about.
Stupid questions like “how long has he worked for Sinro?” and “is he from here?” and “is he seeing anyone?” swirl in my head.
Soon enough, Forest parks along the curb in front of my house. “Home sweet home. Need anything else?”
I hop out of the car and shut the door. Again, I recognize my bad manners, but I can’t seem to do anything about it. Rev mentioned he’s made to kill. Well, I’m made to be this. A sad, sulky, rude sack of shit.
Marching straight up to my bedroom, I flop down on my bed.
“Murder kitten,” I scoff.
But as I curl up under my blankets, I’m a little relieved to know there’s someone scarier than SIXX roaming the streets, and he’s on my side.