Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Skylar
The moment Jericho’s fist collided with Charlie’s face, I got hard. Then again, I’m pretty sure Jericho could read me a dictionary, and I’d have a damn flagpole in my pants. I didn’t expect my sexy hitman to use his fists, and I must admit it does something to me.
Charlie is still sitting in the dirt, gravel from the asphalt digging into his hands as he blubbers and begs.
His cheek is gushing blood, and honestly, it’s getting everywhere.
Some people don’t realize there are so many little blood vessels in the cheek.
One little gash or cut can be just as alarming and bloody as a head wound.
“Please,” Charlie says again, using his hand to try to swipe his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes. One eye keeps squinting shut.
I squat down to his level and press my index finger against his cut. He keens, flinching in pain. “Damn,” I say. “Look at you, Charlie Boy. Blood, snot, and tears everywhere. You’re making a fucking mess.” He’s crying even harder now.
My attention is drawn to the tiny white items on the ground. As I pick them up, it dawns on me that these are the pills Charlie planned on using on Jericho.
Jericho steps up behind me. His delicious scent of shea butter and vanilla mingles with the fresh copper in the air.
I’m tempted to lean back and press my cheek against his thigh like a damn cat scenting its territory.
Jericho has such a dominating presence; I want to bask in it.
Finally, I glance up and peer at him. He’s idly caressing the dull edge of a folding tactical knife, its blade catching in the dim streetlight.
Charlie seems to notice the large blade at the same time as I do and screams. I roll my eyes. “You should probably be quiet, or Jericho here might be tempted to cut out your tongue,” I say. Jericho’s lips curl into another smile. He’s handsome like this.
It dawns on me then that the two of us can’t stop grinning around each other. It’s kinda romantic, especially if you consider murder our love language.
“Did you leave me a flower at the gym?” Jericho asks suddenly, as if he’s thinking romantic thoughts too.
“Yes, sir,” I tease. “I also left you one by your mailbox the other day. Did you see it?”
Charlie’s face scrunches with confusion as his gaze bounces between the two of us. His pathetic whimpers are starting to ruin the mood.
Jericho chuckles. “I did. Never thought I’d have the White Amethyst Killer courting me with flowers.”
Charlie’s head whips back my way and studies me. I’m still squatting at eye level. I see the moment it clicks. Fear. True fear oozes off him in waves. I close my eyes, savoring it. My fingers toy with the pills in my hand.
“Wh-why did he say that?”
Eyes still closed, I tilt my head, smiling. “Say what?” I ask, playing stupid.
“Are you really the White Amethyst Killer?”
I’m about to confirm it when he jumps up.
I snap my eyes open in time to see Charlie try to bolt.
Jericho is already there, pressing his chest against Charlie’s back and holding his intimidating blade to his throat.
“Now that’s just rude, Charlie. You weren’t that scared of me, and I’m holding a fucking knife.
But suddenly, you find out Skylar is a famous serial killer, and now you want to run? ”
I can’t help it; I laugh. This is so fucking ridiculous. And exhilarating. Intoxicating. Fun. Who knew having a partner in crime could be like this?
“Tell me, Skylar. Is Charlie here worth poisoning, or should we just slice his throat open?”
My fingers wander up to the pendant around my neck.
“I’ve never poisoned anyone who didn’t directly hurt my sister,” I confess.
“My special blend is only meant for them. I’ve spent years secretly planting White Amethyst all over New Vernon in honor of Fiona.
So much so, it’s now considered the city’s flower, despite the serial killer moniker now attached to it.
” Then, I remember all the victims Charlie hurt.
One of them died by suicide. Another gone, their body never found.
I didn’t have much time to dig any further, but I’m sure there are more victims. Even so, everything I did see is enough for me to want this man killed.
Jericho is studying me, that gleeful manic look still mirroring mine.
He’s fucking perfect. A vigilante who also gets off on a kill.
I can tell he needs this as much as I do.
I never really thought much about killing other rapists and abusers who haven’t hurt my sister, but as I continue to stare at the handsome killer in front of me, I know what I want.
I saunter up to Jericho, press my body against his side, and place my hand over his. “No,” I reply. “He’s a piece of shit who isn’t worth the poison in my sister’s pendant.” With that, I yank Jericho’s hand, using it to slash the blade across Charlie’s neck.
Blood gushes from the cut. Jericho shoves Charlie to the ground before he can spray us.
We both step back, perfectly in sync. It takes about ten seconds for Charlie to pass out.
He’ll be dead in less than five minutes.
Our eyes meet. Intense dark orbs drown out the blue as he stares at me, waiting.
Wanting. The streetlight flickers before giving out.
Suddenly, it feels like the world around us falls away.
It’s only us, swallowed by the night, bathed in the quiet glow of the moon.
For the first time since my brief captivity, we’re completely alone.
No barriers, no screens, no shadows to hide behind.
It’s just him, me, and the raw passion simmering between us.
The professional hitman I’ve idolized for years and the man I’ve been meticulously stalking are colliding into the same person.
Two obsessions are morphing into one terrifying, thrilling reality.
For weeks, I’ve followed and studied Jericho in the dark.
I’ve grown to respect and crave him like I never have with anyone else before him.
Jericho calmly tugs a cloth from his pants and cleans the blood from his blade before he folds the tactical knife and pockets it.
I’m panting now, trembling under his intensity.
I feel like I’m vibrating under my skin.
Excitement and fear are mingling together into one heady feeling, leaving me dizzy.
He’s completely still, the absolute embodiment of dominance and control.
It’s intoxicating, a silent show of power that makes my blood run hot.
My gaze travels down his powerful body until it lingers on the thick bulge in his pants. He’s so damn hard, like me.
We just killed a man.
Together.
“Tell me what you want, little minx.” His voice is rough like the gravel beneath our boots.
What I want. What the hell do I want?
I want him. I want... this. A desperate, electric rush of finally feeling alive. To completely surrender to this dangerous, beautiful man. I want to submit and know what it feels like to truly breathe.
I sink to my knees before him, the movement slow and deliberate. Above me, his breath hitches. It’s a sharp, sudden intake of air that betrays just how much my submission affects him. His gaze never wavers, lust-dark eyes burning down into mine.
Say it. Tell him. Tell him what you want.
Leaning forward, I grip his hips and graze my cheek over his erection. Groaning, his hand immediately lands on the brick wall behind me as if he needs it to ground himself. “Skylar,” he breathes.
Tell him. Say it out loud. Show him who you really are, I say to myself.
My fingers find the button of his black jeans. “I want to live,” I say as I pop it free and drag the zipper down. With large, round eyes that never break eye contact, I submit.
His cock jumps as soon as I cup it through the material. Then, I find the waistband of his pants, tugging them down his thick thighs. I groan when I realize he isn’t wearing anything underneath. Jericho’s cock springs up in front of me.
The sharp asphalt digs into my knees, a fierce, stinging reminder of exactly where we are. Right here. Outside, right next to a fresh corpse. A wild, electric spark of life flares in my chest. There’s one less monster left to stain this world.
I wrap my fingers around the base of Jericho’s cock and begin to lick his length slowly.
Reverently. As if I have all the time in the world.
As if we don’t need to flee the scene and get as far away as possible.
I lick him like I was meant to do this. Like I’ve been doing this for years. Deliberately and with purpose.
His cock throbs. Precum leaks from the tip. I lap that up too, before I wrap my lips around the head and suck.
“Fuuuuck, little minx. What are you doing to me?” he whispers, his fingers finding my hair.
I continue my slow exploration, as though I plan to worship him like this for hours.
He tastes so damn good. Clean and slightly salty.
He smells good, too. Heady and intoxicating, like vanilla and arousal in their purest forms. Nothing makes sense, and yet, this feels so damn right.
“Look at you, already lust drunk and desperate,” he growls. His fingers tighten their hold, tugging on my strands.
I hum, sucking harder and building a rhythm. My own cock is rock hard, but I ignore it, giving myself completely to the man above me. This is about pleasuring him. I want to give him everything. My body, my mouth…me.
His eyes are heavy-lidded. “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re driving me so damn crazy,” he murmurs, hips slowly starting to thrust. Pushing his cock further down my throat, I take as much of him as I can, letting him feel the tight constriction of my throat.