Chapter 3 #2
She’s grinding on some guy who looks way too fucking pleased with himself, his hands spread on her hips like that gives him a claim.
Like touching her means something. Like she’s his just because he’s close enough.
Her body moves slow and controlled, like she knows exactly how hot she looks and doesn’t need approval from anyone in this shithole. Least of all him.
And the second I clock his hands on her—
Nothing makes sense.
Something ugly snaps in my chest. Fast. Mean and goddamn possessive.
Jealousy.
The fuck is that?
I don’t know her. She’s not mine. I don’t do “mine.” I never have.
And yet my jaw locks, pulse kicking up, vision narrowing on the simple fact that some random asshole is touching her like he’s entitled to it, and every instinct in my body wants him gone.
Six feet under gone.
That’s new.
So is the way she’s got me hard without even looking my way, and how easily she flipped some switch I didn’t know I had, making me want to pull her out of the lights and noise, not to kill her, but to mark her.
Claim her, so no other piece of shit ever thinks of putting his filthy hands where they don’t belong.
I don’t know what the hell she is.
But I know one thing for sure—
I’ve never been one to like sharing.
The guy?
He’s nothing to her, that much is clear.
Just something she’s using.
And I fucking hate that I’m already counting how long he has before I step in.
The red outfit she has on flashes under the lights, tight as fuck and doing its job. It hugs her everywhere it should. No effort and no fucking shame. It looks darker under the strobes, like fresh blood clinging to her skin.
My eyes stick to her without me even trying. Waist. Hips. Thighs. The way she moves like she knows people are watching and doesn’t give a shit, like she expects it.
Yeah. She’s hot as hell, and she fucking knows it.
But that’s not the part that gets me.
It’s the way she’s acting like nothing happened as she grinds against this guy.
Like what she witnessed in the alley was just another part of her night.
Like she didn’t look at us, hands coated in little miss trackstars blood, and grin instead of scream.
That’s the part that has me all kinds of fuck up.
So I stand there and watch.
She laughs at something the guy behind her says, loud and careless. Her head tipped back like she doesn’t give a single fuck who’s staring. Her pretty little throat’s wide open as her hand drags down her own thighs, slow and lazy, like she’s touching herself just to see who notices.
I fucking notice. My jaw tightens again before I can stop it.
It’s stupid how easy it is to picture my hand there, squeezing her throat while I hold her right where I fucking want her. I can’t help but wonder how fast that laugh would change to a moan if I acted on all the things I want to right now.
Then she feels the weight of my gaze and her eyes suddenly lift.
She clocks the wings first, then the mask.
And there it is—that smug sexy little smirk.
Like she just proved something. She doesn’t look away.
Not even when she leans in and murmurs something in the guy’s ear.
Instead, she continues grinding against him, rolling her body like a fucking pornstar while keeping her eyes locked with mine through the mask.
She leans back, whispering some more bullshit in his ear, and whatever she says makes him grin like a dumbass. Fuck.
Then she pulls away from him, still watching me, backs into the crowd, and takes off.
Not panicked or scared like I’m used to, but just fast enough to make sure I chase.
Bet.
I laugh under the mask, already moving.
This girl knows exactly what she’s doing, and fuck me… I really want to see what she does next.
I slip through bodies easily, wings knocking shoulders, bow bouncing against my back.
I keep flipping the switchblade open and closed at my side just to feel it, like a nervous habit I never bothered kicking.
Someone spills a drink down my spine, someone else shoves into me, high and drunk off whatever toxic shit they have pumping through their veins.
I don’t slow down for either of them, but I lose her when the lights flare and the crowd surges. For about two seconds, I’m fucking annoyed. But then I grin behind the mask.
Because this is the fun part.
I keep moving, trusting my hunter instincts, the direction she went, and the fact that she wants to be followed.
Sure enough, after what feels like hours but was likely no more than a few goddamn minutes, I find her near the back of the warehouse, where the lights are dimmer and the bass feels thicker in your chest. She slows down on purpose this time, backs up until she hits the wall like she’s setting a stage.
I step closer, crowding her space without touching her. Her shoulders press into the wall, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in a fraction, like she’s testing me.
“So,” she says, breathless but smiling, eyes bright and way too calm for someone who watched me gut a body not that long ago. “You always stalk girls from across the room like a fucking creep after you kill someone?” A beat. “Or am I just that special?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Damn,” I say, impressed. “No denial. No screaming. Straight to calling me out. I like that.”
She shrugs, all casual attitude and sharp mouth. “I figured pretending you’re not a murderer would be, like… weird. And a waste of both our time.”
“Fair.” I tilt my head, amused as hell. “And for the record, I don’t stalk unless someone makes it obvious they want the attention.”
Her brow lifts. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say easily. “And you, little Valentine, showing up here tonight dressed like that—” My eyes drag down her body, slow, and deliberate, taking her in like I’ve got all the time in the world.
“—looking at me the way you did. That wasn’t subtle.
That was you putting on a show.” I step a fraction closer.
“And when you ran? You didn’t run scared.
You ran smug. Kept looking back. Smiling like you wanted me on your heels.
” A smirk curves under the mask. “To a guy like me? This little cat-and-mouse thing we’re doing?
” I shrug lightly. “That’s flirting, baby. ”
She laughs under her breath. “So you chased because you think I wanted you to.”
“Exactly,” I say. “And I’m a big believer in consent.”
Her eyes flick over the wings, the mask, the bow. “That’s a fucked-up way to look at it.”
“Maybe,” I agree cheerfully.
I lift the blade just enough for the tip to brush her throat, right where her pulse jumps hard under my touch. I don’t press it into her flesh, I don’t need to.
“But your pulse says you’re enjoying the hell out of this.”
Her breath hitches, just once, before she schools it.
She leans back against the wall, arms loose, eyes locked on mine. “So, what now?” she asks lightly. “You going to take care of the witness… or are you just gonna stand there and stare?”
I snort, lowering the blade but not giving her any space. “Wow. You’re either real brave—”
“Or real stupid,” she finishes for me, smiling wider. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard that before.”
She tilts her head, teeth worrying her bottom lip like she’s considering her options, and then her hand slides forward, bold as fuck, grabbing my hard cock through my jeans like she’s testing a theory instead of touching something that should scare her off.
Her smile turns soft and mischievous.
“Aww, Cupid,” she murmurs, eyes flicking up to mine. “You really are enjoying this just as much as I am. Probably more.”
My breath stalls for half a second.
She gives a tiny, pleased nod, like she just confirmed what she already knew. “That,” she adds lightly, “tells me you’re not here to just kill me. At least not yet.”
Holy shit.
This bitch is fucking wild.
My first instinct is to laugh. The second is to pull her closer and see how far she’s willing to take this. The third, the one that really fucks me up, is how much I like that she didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t ask. Just reached for me like she wanted something and fucking took it.
She didn’t care that I’m a killer, or that she should be scared.
She wanted it. So she took it.
That does something dangerous in my chest.
I catch her wrist in my hand, not to stop her, just to feel her pulse again under my fingers. It’s racing with excitement.
Matching mine perfectly.
“Careful,” I say low, and amused, as my thumb brushes that spot that gives her away softly with my thumb. “You keep flirting like that, and I might forget I’m supposed to be the scary one here.”
Her grin only widens.
Fucking hell.
She’s not just playing along.
She’s having fun, and fuck me, I love that.
I laugh under the mask and let the blade slide into view, slow and obvious as it catches the red light. I don’t touch her with it this time, yet her thighs tense anyway, just a little, but I fucking see it.
“Little Valentine,” I murmur, amused, “you’re clenching like you want me closer. Don’t tempt me unless you actually mean it.”
Her eyes flick from the knife to my mouth and stick there. “Big talk,” she says softly. “For a guy hiding behind a mask.”
“Funny,” I say, tucking the blade back into my pocket before hooking my fingers under the edge of my mask and tugging it up just enough to show her my mouth, my chin, the grin I’ve been sporting since the alley. “You didn’t seem to mind earlier.”
Her inhale catches, sharp and shallow.
I step in, close enough that there’s no room left for pretending this is just a game. I lean down, lips hovering over hers, not touching, but close enough that I feel her breath hitch against my mouth. Close enough to make the pause fucking hurt.
My free hand grips onto her hip, firm and possessive, pulling her small body into me like I’ve already decided she belongs right there. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she presses closer, daring me to finish what I started.