Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
KIARA
I had to pull over once to let Yolanda puke, but she passed out shortly after that. The drive from Ahmad’s place to mine took about twenty minutes, and the entire drive I found myself thinking about Zyran. How did he know I was at Ahmad’s house? Had he been following me all night?
He’s a fucking stalker, that’s why.
After I helped Yo into the guest room bed, I made sure she had some water and medicine on the bedside table before going back downstairs.
A part of me wanted to drop her off at her house—and I almost did after I’d read the text from Zyran—but I would have felt like the worst kind of friend if I just dumped her there and left her to fend for herself. I mostly don’t want to risk waking her up with what I plan to do with Zyran.
I’m coming for you, butterfly.
That’s all the message says. Now, I’m sitting on the couch and wringing my hands nervously. The fluttering in my stomach is wild .
He didn’t say when he’d come, but I really hope he gets here soon.
My wish is answered in the form of a dark shape appearing to my left. I whip my head in the direction of the darkened hallway, wondering how in the hell I didn’t hear him come in.
“You came,” I whisper as I stand up. I start to take a step toward him, but I hold back.
“I told you I would.” His deep voice sends shivers down my spine. I swallow the lump in my throat.
He starts to walk toward me, but I put a hand up to stop him. He stands right in the pale gray moonlight shining through the cracked blinds of the window. He’s still wearing his mask, and those indigo eyes watch me carefully, waiting.
“Yolanda’s asleep upstairs,” I say quietly. He doesn’t respond.
I let my eyes travel over him, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of my stomach. The image of Malcolm’s large body lying in the alley floods my thoughts, and then I remember that he most likely did something to Ahmad, too.
Have I been yearning for the attention of a fucking serial killer?
“Who are you?” I ask him again, for the second time since I first met him.
“ Yours , baby,” he says quietly, deeply. The sincerity of his words and the intensity of his gaze set my skin ablaze. “I’m yours.”
I don’t know what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t that .
“You know, you’re not the only one who likes to stalk,” I say, tilting my head innocently.
He seems amused now. “Oh?”
“Zyran Rivera—no middle name. Born in San Diego on June 23 rd , 2002 to Tracy McEwan and Juan Rivera. Your mom is from New Hampshire, and your dad was born in Puerto Rico. He and his family emigrated here to the States when he was sixteen. He died last year.”
I expect some kind of reaction at the mention of his father’s passing, but instead, he nods appreciatively. “So the obsession isn’t one-sided, then.”
I shake my head. “No. You’ve made it kind of hard not to be obsessed with you.”
The two of us stand there for so long, just staring at each other, that I almost forget what I’ve been wanting to do for the past three months.
“I’m tired of waiting, Kiara.” His impatient growl finally breaks the silence.
My fingernails dig painfully into my palms as I clench my fists. “So come here.”
Like an animal impatiently waiting for its food, he comes to me in two large strides and grabs my hips to pull me to him. I reach up to try to remove his mask, but he grips my wrist and places a soft kiss there.
Reaching behind me with my free hand, I grab the knife from the back pocket of my jeans and slash at his face.
The bastard is quicker than I thought and anticipates the blow. Ducking underneath the knife, he twists the arm he was holding until my back is to his front. I stomp on his booted feet to get him to let go, but his grip is like iron.
“Are you flirting with me, butterfly?” he asks, amusement dripping from his voice as I try to get him with the knife.
“Let me go!”
I rear my head back and catch his nose. He loses his grip on me and grunts in pain, stumbling backward until he’s leaning against the dining room table. I stalk toward him and try to stab him in the side, but his hand flies out and grips my wrist again. This time, he twists it painfully until I let go. The knife clatters onto the floor and fills the room with its jarring sound.
I cry out and cradle my wrist to my chest. Gritting my teeth, I lunge at him and try to claw at his face, but the mask makes it hard to puncture his skin.
As I start to dig my fingers into his eyes, Zyran wraps a hand around my throat and squeezes, instantly cutting off my air. My windpipe feels like it’s being crushed by the force of his grip.
I open my mouth to try to get some air, but he’s making it perfectly clear that he determines if and when I get to breathe. I panic when he lifts me off the floor.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks darkly. I can just barely make out the blood trickling down to his eye.
I dig my fingers into his wrist until he growls again and lets me go. I fall to the floor heavily on my hands and knees, taking in heaving, gasping breaths.
When I’m able to compose myself, I stand on shaking legs and face him, still out of breath.
“Why are you upset with me?”
Despite the anger in his tone, his eyes are full of hurt, and I’d be lying if I said a part of me didn’t feel the least bit bad about trying to kill him.
“It’s your fault,” I blame him, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You’re the reason Grandma died.”
The ice melts from his eyes, and his shoulders slump at my accusation. “I didn’t do anything to hurt her, Kiara.”
I shake my head and force the tears not to come. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have been in the forest that night, and she wouldn’t have woken up looking for me. She wouldn’t have called the police, and I wouldn’t have had to explain to her why I was wandering around trying to find my way home in the middle of the night and acting weird all the time.”
I rub a tired hand across my face and wipe away the tears I can’t hold back.
“You took her from me, and then you left,” I whisper, stepping closer to him. “Now I’m going to make you pay for it.”
Zyran doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there and stares at me as the blood continues to drip down to his mouth and soak into his mask.
Then, the corners of his eyes crinkle with delight, and when he laughs, I swear I see red.
“What the hell is so funny?” I snap.
He taps my nose gently. “You are, baby. The fact that you think you could actually kill me…” He trails off before doubling over with laughter again.
Did he just boop my nose?!
I let out an infuriated huff. “It’s not funny, Zyran.”
Suddenly, he stops and stands straight again. His eyes are alight with desire as he steps closer to me and pulls me to him. I want to slap his hands away, but the feeling of his rough hands on my skin makes me weak.
“I like the way you say my name.”
And then he’s lifting his mask and devouring my mouth.
I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer. He tastes like blood, sweat, and every bad thing my mom ever warned me about. His lips are like the darkest sin, his hands like the sweetest temptation.
Gripping the back of my neck, Zyran breaks the kiss and looks me in the eye. “Hate me if you have to, Kiara, as long as you feel something for me. Don’t stand here and pretend like I don’t mean anything to you.”
He’s right, and that scares the hell out of me.
I feel so many things for him: desire, anger, hatred… love?
No, no, not love. I can’t love someone like him. I still barely even know him, even though I know almost everything about him.
It’s hard to know what I feel for him because I’m so confused.
Like now. I’m furious at him for what happened to Grandma, but I also want nothing more than to feel him on me, for him to drag me upstairs and destroy me.
Seeming to sense where my thoughts have gone, Zyran smirks as he presses his nose into my wrist and inhales deeply. He still hasn’t given me my bottle back, but I’ll forget about it for now.
I close my eyes and lean into him, his familiar smoke and woods scent enveloping me. I could get used to smelling him every day.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” I say quietly. Despite wanting to hurt him, it’s important for him to know that I appreciate what he did. If he hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what Ahmad would have done to Yolanda and me, or what Malcolm would have done in the restroom at the club.
“You don’t ever have to thank me for protecting you, butterfly,” he says as he smells my hair, my neck. Having him this close to me makes it so hard to concentrate on any other feelings but the need to be near him.
“You need a bath,” he says against my hair before pulling me toward the downstairs bathroom. I don’t have a chance to be offended by what he’s just said before he sits me down on the toilet and starts running the bathwater. I’m not even bothered by the fact that he knows where the bathroom is.
“I took a shower before I went to the club,” I tell him as he takes my heels off.
“You smell like the club.” He tosses my shoes into a corner before slipping my shirt over my head. I gasp at his quickness, but he doesn’t stop until I’m standing before him completely naked.
I cover myself, but it’s pointless. He’s already seen so much of me at this point, already done so many things to me that I shouldn’t have a reason to feel shy.
“Move your hands,” he says darkly, eyes roving over me predatorily. “Let me see that beautiful body.”
My cheeks heat as I drop my hands to my sides. My nipples are hardened peaks from his intense gaze. He takes his time getting his fill, and I want nothing more than for him to take me right now.
“Zyran,” I whisper, my clit throbbing with need.
He closes his eyes and groans, palming himself.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Kiara.”
I step closer until my nipples graze the front of his jacket. My fingers slowly travel over the front of him, down to his belt buckle, and gently tug. He reaches out and grabs a fistful of my hair in his large hand, tugging slightly.
When I reach his rock-hard bulge, his eyelids fall closed, and the most primal growl rumbles deep in his chest.
I smirk. “I think I have an idea.”
My boldness must set him off because he pulls me up and crashes his lips into mine, taking what he wants. I moan into his mouth as his tongue swipes over mine deliciously, the faint taste of whiskey making me dizzy.
“You still haven’t given me my perfume back,” I breathe. What an awkward time to be mentioning something like that…
Zyran chuckles and nips at my bottom lip playfully. “You’re not getting it back, baby.”
Before I have a chance to argue, Zyran puts a finger to my lips and shushes me.
Then he does something I wasn’t expecting—he takes the mask off, revealing the beautiful face underneath it.
Oh. My. GOD .
He’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined.
His short, night-black hair and eyebrows are a stark contrast to the deep hue of his indigo eyes and his lightly tanned skin. The perfect planes and angles of his chiseled face are sculpture-like, and for a moment, I feel like I’m looking at a piece of art.
Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe him—he’s breathtaking, even with all the blood on his face.
I don’t realize my mouth is still hanging wide open until he pushes on my chin with a chuckle. “So, I take it you’re not disappointed with what you see?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly, reaching up to run a hand through those silken strands. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch, a low rumble coming from somewhere deep inside his chest.
We stand there for a moment, him nuzzling my hand and me drinking in every part of him, until he breaks the silence.
“What happens now?” he asks quietly.
I chew on my bottom lip nervously.
That’s a really good question.
“This is hard for me,” I start.
His brows furrow in confusion. “Why?”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around what the fuck the two of us are even doing.”
He looks at me and waits patiently for me to continue, because there’s definitely something else I have to say.
“And…”
“Spit it out, Kiara,” he says roughly, moving my hand from his face but still holding onto it tightly.
“I still can’t forgive you for my grandma dying,” I whisper, coming back to reality.
The bathroom is now filled with steam, and sweat beads on my forehead. Zyran drops my hand and, without a word, leaves the bathroom and slips back into the shadows of the living room.
I try to pretend I didn’t notice the hurt in his eyes.