Chapter 10 Eva
EVA
I stand there, motionless, panting into clasped hands, stomach in knots. My head spins a little as I take in the sight before me, eyes flicking from Caden, who may as well be unconscious, to Thea’s closed door, to the pistol in Mason’s hand.
Is it real? I have never seen one before.
Mason stares at me with eyes so sharp, I feel them slice mine. He doesn’t move, gun still poised two inches from Caden’s face.
Not aimed. Just a dangled threat. Why does that feel worse?
There is only one way I can think of to get him away from Caden. I shove my door wide open and stand aside.
“Can we talk?” I choke out, gesturing into my bedroom, my chest rising and falling, stuttering for every breath.
For a moment, he stares at me. Then he takes a deliberate step away from Caden, holding me still with his dark gaze. Heat pulses between us like a current. Every step further from Caden relief; every step toward me, panic.
With trembling fingers, I shut the door and whip around to face Mason. The very man I swore I would never be alone with.
And here I am. Alone with him. Again.
He stands in the center of the room like he owns the place and me along with it. That glare, as if I have somehow wronged him, not him who has broken into my flat. But the cruel look on his face is the least of my troubles.
“Aren’t firearms illegal in the UK?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“What part of me looks legal to you?” he snorts.
I cross my arms at my chest, if only to hold myself together. Suddenly, I’m very conscious of my short nightdress. My arms push up the low-cut cleavage, but that just makes the hem ride higher up my thighs.
“Can you put it away? They make me uncomfortable.”
Eyes fixed on me, he slides the gun in the breast pocket of his jacket. I know he still has it, but having it out of sight helps defrost my frozen nerves.
“It’s away. Now, get dressed,” he says with authority that demands obedience. “You’re coming with me.”
“No.” I shake my head, stronger than necessary. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You wanna bet?” He takes a threatening step toward me, but I ground myself.
“Do you really expect me to blindly follow your orders?”
“That’s what fealty means, princess.” One corner of his mouth curls up. “Blind. Sworn. Loyalty.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat as calmly as I can manage.
“I see.” He rubs the stubble on his chin. “Then I guess I’m staying.”
“Excuse me?”
My arms fall to the side, lips parting, as he takes off his jacket and throws it on my desk.
He rolls up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to the elbows, revealing the daunting serpent tattoo and clean marks on his arm, which seem more like angry scars of passion than wounds from the field.
A small part of me wonders what poor soul was his last victim.
He settles down in the armchair, between the nightstand and the desk, his left ankle casually dangling on his right knee, then lights a cigarette. Smoke fills my clean room, mixing his toxic nicotine with my pure sandalwood.
“Problem?” He lifts a shoulder.
“I was about to go to bed.”
“Go right ahead.” He waves toward the plush white cotton bedding. “I’ll keep watch. Make sure that fucker doesn’t lay a hand on you.” He points his cigarette, the embers glowing at the end of the stick, toward the door.
“My friend is not the one I’d be worried about.”
“Tell me—do you welcome all your friends to your bedroom?” He raises a brow, eyes flashing to Caden’s backpack under my desk. I glare back, refusing to answer. “How many friends do you have? If it’s more than five, I will require an itemized list.”
“What do you care? My life is none of your business,” I hiss, jutting a finger toward the door. “And leave Caden out of this. I mean it.”
“Oh, you mean it?” He smirks. “That’ll make it easier to break his neck like a twig.” He takes a drag and exhales two rings.
My breath hitches. Surely, he can’t be serious. Is he? Maybe he is. Who knows? I have never met someone so… callous. I try not to focus on the twig part, but my feet naturally inch toward the laundry basket by the bathroom door, where my panic button is hidden in my hoodie pocket.
“I wouldn’t bother if I were you, little dove,” he tsks as my hand reaches for the lid behind my back. “I’ll put a bullet in your friend and haul you out of here before Grandpa downstairs gets to the first floor.”
My hand jerks away from the basket. I hate the smug satisfaction the movement brings to his face. This is obviously not his first gig. Of course he would have checked on Jack.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask. “Little dove. What does that mean?”
“You mourn like one.” He smiles. “When you sleep.”
My lips part, jaw dropping to the floor in slow motion, eyes widening until they pop out of the sockets.
His words echo in my head, my heart racing so fast, each beat hammers in my ears.
Suddenly, my bedroom blurs at the edges.
The only thing I see is the angry marks on his forearm.
And now that I really see them—the shape, the depth—I know without a doubt those marks are mine.
He was here.
Last night.
He saw it—the horror of my nightmares, the very last person on earth I want to know.
My breath locks in my throat while he sits there, relishing the expression on my face, which I’m guessing is a mere reflection of the chaos thrashing inside me.
“You are a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” He glances at the scars on his arm. “I thought I could distract you with that pillow, but you are like a carnivore.”
A loud swallow works down my throat as I gawk at him in silence, my fingers trembling, not with fear—with fury.
“That’s twice you have drawn my blood, little dove. I have buried people for lesser crimes.”
“Then maybe you should heed the warning and stay the hell away from me,” I snap, my chin trembling.
He chuckles and ditches what’s left of his cigarette in my glass of water, then rises to his feet. Hands in pockets, he starts advancing toward me.
For every step he takes forward, I take one back.
“You want me to leave you alone?”
“Yes.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“How sure?”
“As sure as death and taxes.”
He chuckles. “Really? Not going to regret kicking me out when you wake up in the middle of the night, with your thighs clenching and throbbing?”
“What?” The soundless word falls from my lips when my back hits the wall.
Fear and fury ignite as the worst realization hits me.
“How long were you here?” I stutter.
“Long enough to watch you touch yourself, moaning my name.” He smirks.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My stomach coils, pulse thundering. I thought that was a dream.
Internal. Private. Impenetrable.
Unforgivable thoughts I could blame on unconsciousness and forget myself.
“I had the pleasure of watching the whole show.” He strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Rather aggressive with yourself, aren’t you, little dove?”
Damn it! Why?
Shame burns on my cheeks, chest squeezing until each breath hurts. I didn’t feel so exposed when he patted me down in that room at The Vault, not even when he made me lick his blood. But the thought of him seeing me at my most vulnerable feels like I have been stripped to my very bones.
A flash lights up my window, reflecting the silver streak in the night sky, washing his smug face in an eerie blue. I want to yank open the window, open my arms wide, and beg for the lightning to strike me right this second.
Bonus points for taking him out with me.
“What?” he asks and strokes my lip with his thumb. “No jabs? No snark? Or are you clenching for me already?”
“I hate you.” I shove him back. Not that he moves even an inch.
“That’s ok, princess.” He grins. “Hate me while you moan my name.”
Before I can protest, he presses his lips to mine, trapping me in his burly arms.
It’s new. Unlike that night, this kiss isn’t a show. It’s an attack. Our lips aren’t moving. They are thrashing. He dives right in, sucking my mouth deep into his, his tongue battering mine. The familiar taste seeps into my veins and courses through my body as he floods my mouth, kissing me raw.
I push against his chest. He doesn’t move. I scratch at his neck. But that just makes him growl in my mouth. He doesn’t give me an inch. Not until I’m gasping for my last breath. Finally, his mouth peels from mine—cold air slapping my flushed face.
“Fine,” I exhale, placing a hand on his pecs, hyperventilating. “You saw me. You’ve embarrassed me. Stroked your ego. Got what you wanted? Now, leave.” I struggle in his ironclad grip.
He bursts into a laugh—a predatory, animalistic sound that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Not a chance, little dove.” His voice is a deadly whisper. “First, you are going to show me how much you want me by bouncing on my cock.”
My words die in my throat, muffled against his chest, when he lifts me with one arm around my waist and whirls me around.