Chapter 7 #3
Taking two stairs at a time, I already felt my blood simmer in my veins.
Excitement knocked at my spine, knowing I was about to see her again.
It was a bad fucking idea, judging by the way my cock twitched just thinking about her locked up in that room with nowhere to run.
But fuck me if I didn’t like every second of it.
I unlocked the door and stormed in, finding her sitting against the opposite wall. “Why the fuck won’t you eat?”
She didn’t even blink.
I slammed the door shut. “I’m talking to you.”
No response. She just sat there leaning her head against the wall while staring at the window. Catatonic.
The salad Onyx brought her remained untouched on the bed, a half a bottle of water on the ground next to her. At least she drank something.
Something inside me stirred as I moved closer. The room started to smell like her—vanilla with a hint of honey. I recognized the scent. Sweet and seductive, just like her. I fucking loved it.
Every step I took echoed through the silence, my leather cut creaking as I moved. With my gaze pinned on her, I took a seat on the bed in front of her, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. My head tilted to the side as I scrutinized her.
Filthy blonde hair clung to her forehead.
The purple welts on her face seemed deeper, almost grotesque against her ghostly skin.
Dry blood crusted around her nose, blue circles framing her eyes.
Frankly, she looked like shit, and if it wasn’t for the image of my knife stuck in the dead Python’s skull, it probably would have bothered me a little more than it did.
I hated that she got hurt, but I loved that she was right here in front of me.
Under my roof. At my mercy. Even as president of the Kings, her presence, her fear made me feel more powerful than I ever had before. It was exhilarating.
My gaze traveled down her neck, a few scratches and bruises scattered from her jaw down to her chest. But it was nothing compared to what her face looked like. It was time for Neon to do a little photoshoot.
“That bruise on your face has to hurt. Be a good girl and eat something, then I might consider giving you something for the pain.”
I rubbed my hands together, studying her. Nothing. Not even a goddamn eye-twitch.
“Come on, ballerina girl. You gotta be hungry. In pain?”
Nothing.
I shifted. “Alyxandria.”
Her eyes cut to mine at the mention of her name. The blue sapphires seemed as sad as the bruise on her face.
A smirk tugged at my lips. “You hate your name, don’t you? Is it because mommy calls you that all the time?”
Her gaze turned into a glare. Goddammit, if that look didn’t send a bolt of excitement all the way down my fucking spine. It gave me the urge to touch her, and I leaned forward, reaching out. My fingers came within inches of her face when she reacted, slapping my hand away.
“How the hell do you know so much about me?” She spat out the words through gritted teeth. Her fear was turning into anger. Good. To survive in my world, she needed to let the fight she hid so well come out. Plus, it fucked with my dick knowing she might have the balls to fight me.
I pulled back. “Like I told you, I know this town and its residents. Now, be a good girl and eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“By looking at you, it’s clear you don’t exactly have the reserves to go on a goddamn hunger strike.”
She bit her bottom lip, and I clenched my fists. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Sounds like you do.” She pulled her legs up against her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. “What do you want from me?”
I rubbed my hands together, glancing over my shoulder at the shut door. I turned back to face her. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“Does it have something to do with my father?”
“You mean all those midnight visits we paid him?”
She sucked on her bottom lip, cheeks flushing.
I almost laughed as the skin on her neck turned red. “See,” I slipped off the bed, crouching closer in front of her, “I remember this young girl hiding by her bedroom window, watching us. Or rather, watching me. Question is, why?”
For a moment, the stone facade dropped from her face, her blue eyes alert yet afraid. But then her expression hardened again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
A second passed with our eyes pinned on one another. The look on her face told me she knew exactly what the fuck I was talking about. But I was more than willing to play this game with her. “Something tells me you and I, we’re going to have a lot of fun here, ballerina girl.”
Her face remained stoic. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
I rubbed my fingers up and down my beard, my mind filled with the most entertaining thoughts. Her. Me. And one hell of a fight to see who would end up on top—pun intended.
“Okay, then.” I got up, grabbed the salad off the bed, and tossed the paper bag on the ground in front of her feet. “Eat. It’s a mommy-approved meal, so you don’t have to worry about all those extra calories.”
Feeling amused, I turned and started to walk out the room, but not before she called out after me, “Screw you, you son of a bitch.”
I stilled. I smiled.
I left.