Chapter 32 Willow #2
A lamp on the workbench illuminates the space in dim, warm light, and I close the door behind me with a soft click, leaning my back against it.
I can tell he knows I’m here, but he doesn’t look up at first. He sips from his glass, and I can just make out the sight of him glaring down at the whiskey like he wants to set it on fire with his gaze.
My mouth feels dry, and I have to speak past the knot in my throat.
“Thank you,” I whisper finally.
His lips curl. “I told you not to thank me for shit.”
“I know. It’s just…” I swallow. “Men have always treated me badly. Almost every man I’ve ever known. And no one has ever stood up for me before.”
Malice snorts, shaking his head. When he looks up at me, I can see the lingering anger burning in his eyes. There’s a hard expression on his face, and it’s weird how it suits him. It looks at home on his face, bringing out the striking harshness of his cheekbones and those dark gray eyes.
“I also told you not to make me a hero. I’m no different from any of those other men,” he says, and for once, he doesn’t sound completely pissed off.
Just tired and a little bitter. “I warned you not to do this, Solnyshka. You’re making me out to be some kind of fucking knight, and I’m not. I never will be.”
It’s basically the same thing he said the last time I thanked him, just with a different tone, and now that I have a clearer picture of who he is, I know it’s both true and not true. He’s threatened to kill me so many times, and he takes what he wants without asking.
He’s definitely not a good man, and I can’t really pretend like he is.
He would have killed me in a second the first time we met, if Ransom hadn’t stepped in. If I’d put a toe out of line before, he would have hunted me down and made me pay for my transgression, and he probably wouldn’t have spared a second thought about it.
Malice doesn’t hesitate to do bad things when they need to be done, and he does them fiercely and brutally.
But at the same time, that’s not all there is to him.
I’ve seen little glimpses of who he is under all that brutal anger.
Under all the rage. He’s done all these other things to help me and protect me—even at the expense of things he should want more.
Like earlier tonight, when he attacked a member of the gang they wanted to make a deal with, just because the guy touched me and said something creepy.
I turn all of that over in my mind for a long moment, silently thinking.
“You’re right. Maybe you’re not a knight,” I whisper finally. “But maybe… maybe I don’t need a white knight. Maybe I need something darker.”
Before that awful frat party, I would have thought Colin was the white knight type. I thought he was clean cut and nice, someone harmless, someone I could trust to not hurt me. And in the end, he was worse than someone like Malice, who’s been up front about who he is from the beginning.
My words have an instant effect, and Malice’s head snaps up.
He looks at me sharply, then sets his glass down and rises from the bench in a smooth motion. He stalks toward me, his long, muscled legs eating up the distance between us with powerful strides. I freeze like a statue as he stops less than a foot from me, staring up at him almost helplessly.
Everything about Malice is so raw and carnal, and he fills the space between us with his dominating presence, making it hard to breathe or focus on anything but him and how close he is.
He grips my chin, and I can feel the callouses on his fingers, rough against my skin as he tilts my head up.
He’s a lot taller than me, but when he drops his head, our faces are so close together that his breath fans over my skin, and I can smell the whiskey on it.
I don’t move, I barely even breathe, staring up at him as tension grows and fills the tiny space between us.
“Be careful what you wish for, Solnyshka,” he murmurs. “You say all that shit about wanting a dark knight, but I don’t think you really understand what that means. I could break you so easily. I could destroy you.”
It’s definitely not the first time he’s threatened me, and it probably won’t be the last.
But this… this is different from the other times.
This isn’t a threat of him killing me, like it’s been in the past. This isn’t him telling me what will happen if I step out of line and rat them out or refuse to do what he says.
This is a threat that makes my nipples go hard and my skin tingle.
A threat that sounds like it encompasses something so much deeper, so much more.
A threat of what it would be like if he claimed me.
I can barely breathe, and I feel lightheaded and a bit dizzy. All I’m aware of is the thundering of my heart and the heat coiling low in my belly as he stares down at me and I look back up at him, trapped by his body and his gaze.
He probably would destroy me, if he got his hands on me in that way.
But I must want to go up in flames, because I tilt my head up even farther, closing some of the space between our faces. Drawn to him the way I always seem to be.
Malice moves at almost the exact same moment I do.
His head drops the rest of the way, his fingers digging into my jaw a little as he kisses me, deep and consuming—like a hurricane unleashed.
His mouth is hot and insistent, like he’s trying to devour me whole from the inside out.
There’s nothing gentle about it, and his strong hand holds me in place with a bruising grip.
I’m trapped between him and the door, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the feelings that are surging through me.
And this is just a kiss.
What would it be like if it was more than that?
The kiss is soul stealing, and I can’t fight what the heated pressure of his lips is doing to me. I get lost in it, kissing him back, our mouths somewhere between clashing and melding together each time we come back for more.
Malice pins me tighter against the door, his body hard against mine.
I can feel every point of contact between us like a burning fire, branding me.
The searing heat makes my brain scream at me to back away, certain I’m going to be consumed, even while my body is yearning to dive headfirst into those flames.
He bites down on my lower lip, hard enough that it draws blood, but that doesn’t slow down the kiss at all.
He sucks my lip into his mouth, dragging his tongue against it, and I know he must taste the metallic tang of the blood he drew.
The movement of his tongue isn’t soothing or tender, just ravenous and consuming, and it sparks more fire in my veins, all of it roaring through me like an inferno.
I hear a broken little moan, and a heartbeat later, I realize it came from me.
Malice just kisses me harder, like he wants me to make more of those sounds so that he can swallow up every single one of them.
Time seems to stand still as we’re locked together, and I only realize it’s been a while when my lungs start to burn for air. My head is spinning, but I’d gladly suffocate if it means I get to keep doing this. To keep falling into this incredible high.
But then Malice breaks away, panting hard.
He opens up a small space between our bodies, and his eyes glitter as he looks down at me. He holds himself stiff, as if it’s taking all of his self-control to keep that distance between us and not lunge back in for more.
His eyes flash dangerously, and there’s a twisted look on his face, half anger and half lust. His hands clench into fists, and I hear the knuckles crack, a testament to how hard he’s holding himself back.
“Run,” he grits out, his voice sounding almost wrecked. “Now. Before I…”
He trails off, and when he looks at me again, there’s something in his eyes. Something feral edged with vulnerability, like he’s trying to protect me from himself.
Some part of me doesn’t want to go. Some part of me wants to stay and find out just what he would do to me if I let him.
But a bigger part is clamoring that I’ve already gotten too close to the towering flames, and that I should get away now before I’m burned alive. That thought makes my self-preservation instinct kick in, and I nod shakily, reaching behind me for the door handle.
More light spills into the room when I open the door, and I catch a glimpse of Malice’s face, backlit by the lamp and half in shadow. It makes him look almost monstrous, but there’s something alluringly beautiful about the darkness in his eyes. Something that still calls to me.
But I don’t give in. I slip away from him and out of the garage, darting into the living room and then up the stairs.
I practically jog down the hallway on the second floor, then duck into the bathroom and close the door, staring at my flushed face in the mirror. I barely recognize myself with my tangled hair and kiss bruised lips.
I’ve never looked like this. I’ve never felt like this.
It’s like I’m falling, careening down the side of a cliff. Ever since these men crashed into my life, it’s like I’ve been falling down the rabbit hole, and now I’ve been literally plucked out of my old life. The life I was trying to make for myself.
It terrifies me how far away that old version of myself feels already, like it’s not even me anymore.
My impulse is to try to catch myself, to do something to stop the fall. I’ve spent so much of my life just trying to fit in and be ‘good,' whatever that even means anymore.
But maybe Ransom was right.
Maybe I’m not as good as I thought I was.
I stand there for a long time, gripping the sides of the sink and dragging in deep breaths. Finally, I splash some cold water on my face and dry off, then step hesitantly back out into the hall and head back to Ransom’s room.
It’s late by now, and he’s in bed already, scrolling on his phone with the bottle of his favorite whiskey sitting on the nightstand beside him. For some reason, the sight of him settles my nerves a little.
He looks up, his eyes tracking over my face as he reads my expression. Then he throws the covers back on the bed and motions for me to join him.
“Come on, pretty girl. Let’s get some sleep.”
I crawl into bed with him, and he turns off the beside lamp, pulling me into his arms once we’re both settled.
Just this once, I go willingly, allowing this man who should frighten me to comfort me instead.