Chapter 6
I hear five consecutive beeps – a signal that the gates have been bolted. The guards turn their backs to it and start chatting amongst each other, and the shadow shifts again.
My mouth is dry as I stare at Dorran when he steps into the nightlight.
He’s wearing a black vest and dark jeans, which camouflage him with ease and make it difficult to keep up with him.
He moves again, and it’s with such deadly grace that I’m left speechless.
He’s out of my line of view for a few aching seconds, but when I see him again, he’s climbing up the concrete wall on the left side of the gates.
Ohmygod.
The rain has slowed down, which is going to serve as a disadvantage for whatever it is that he has planned.
At this point, I can only watch what he’s doing, and pray that he succeeds, because if he’s caught, then I’ll have no way of justifying whatever this is, to Mave or to my mom, even if I try my hardest.
Dorran leaps, then lands effortlessly on the wet grass. The guards don’t notice him, not even as he all but glides forward on sure, calculated treads.
The wind picks up again, ruffling his curls, but he continues to press forward – completely unaffected.
He takes cover behind the third figurine, just as one of the guards quickly sweeps his eyes over the garden, before looking away. They won’t be able to see him once he reaches me. But the question is: how will he get to me?
If I open the estate doors right now, there’s a strong chance that’ll trigger the guards’ attention, and I most definitely don’t want that. I may not know Dorran well, but I sure as hell don’t want the fucker dead for a few dollars.
He moves again – this time in front of the seventh figurine. That’s a huge leap forward, but he manages to stay undetected, so I’m not complaining.
He shifts to his left first, then to his right, and keeps subtracting the space between us by moving under the cover of the scattered figurines.
Dorran is night incarnate – soundless, incalculable. Fucking fatal by nature.
A thud sounds from somewhere, and both Dorran and I look in its direction. One of the guards has dropped his backup pistol, and the rest of them are laughing at him. Why? I honestly do not know.
These men get paid to ensure Mom and I’s safety, and here they are, cackling because one of them dropped a fucking weapon.
I’ve never felt more protected in my life.
I avert my gaze from them and look at Dorran again, and see that he’s using the guards’ distraction as an opportunity to rush forward.
He crosses the garden and reaches the estate’s ground, then finally gazes up at me.
He grins, and Christ, it’s so damn full of lunacy that it makes my pulse quicken.
He glances around. Then, in a movement too swift, he jumps and grabs the lowest concrete motif that’s protruding from the right pillar of the estate’s structure.
The guards are having a conversation now, but the words are unclear to me.
Dorran uses the motifs to climb higher, and the muscles of his bare arms stretch and flex as he pushes himself up without so much a grunt of struggle. He’s so fluent, so mesmerizing to watch in his state of stealth.
I suck in a breath – the back of my throat icy, dry – when he clasps my balcony’s granite railing. I take a few steps back when he swings one, and then the other leg over it, before turning inward and hopping down onto the floor.
Thunder rumbles the cloudy sky again, and it’s followed by a zap of lightning that briefly illuminates Dorran’s sharp features.
I swallow. “You’re late,” I tell him.
The bells on the antique clock in the foyer below, start ringing, and Dorran smirks.
“Am I?” he asks challengingly.
I push a fallen strand of my hair behind my ear. “I’ll get your money.” I turn and rush into my room, throw my phone on the bed, grab the cash from my nightstand’s second drawer, and walk back to where he’s waiting for me.
“You know,” I start, then offer him the money, “you could’ve gotten yourself killed right now.
The guards at the gates are merciless to a fault; they wouldn’t have hesitated to end you.
And, as savage as you might be, even the Bloody Prince can’t take on more than half a dozen trained assassins on his own. ”
His lips spread into a manic smile as he takes the money from me and pockets it. “Don’t tempt me, Little Swan,” he says with a touch of levity in his voice. “Because I just might feel obligated to prove you wrong. I’m in a giving mood tonight, after all.”
I laugh, and something in his expression changes. Before I can even blink, he’s closed the space between us, pulled a switchblade out, and has wrapped a hand around my throat firmly.
He nudges me, and my back presses against the pillar behind me. He then leans in – so close that I can see every fleck of blue in his eyes.
“Now, Little Swan,” he whispers, “what was so funny about what I just said?”
I stare up at him as my heart goes fucking insane in my chest.
He’s beautiful.
He’s brutal.
He’s my key to salvation.
Dorran brings his blade to my cheek, and the cold metal all but bites my skin, resulting in goosebumps to rise on my scalp and neck.
“Tell me,” he whispers again, then tightens his hold on my throat.
I try to gasp, but it’s impossible. I can’t breathe, and there’s a slight ache in the middle of my chest that should be concerning, but it only excites me.
When I don’t answer him, he drags the blade over my cheek and brings it to my lips. “Open your mouth,” he commands.
I shift on my feet and continue to look at him, to which he chuckles and squeezes my throat even tighter.
I arch forward, and grab his wrist with both my hands when blackness creeps over the edges of my vision. I claw at his fingers because I really can’t breathe now, and my chest feels too heavy and constricted.
Dorran simply smirks. “Open your damn mouth, Cignette,” he orders.
Hell, the way he says my name – it’s like dragon-fire on my chest. It sears through me; it thaws my damn rationality.
I relent and part my lips, and immediately, he loosens his grip on my throat.
“Good girl,” he purrs. “Now, pull your tongue out.”
I do, and feel myself get wet when he flattens the switchblade and runs it over my tongue. He starts from the tip, then pushes it up further, all the way to the inside of my mouth.
“You like that,” he says. There’s no question in his voice. “Who fucking knew.” He pulls the blade out and flips it around, putting the weapon’s black handle into my mouth. “Suck,” he directs.
I wrap my lips around the metal, and it instantly warms against me. I then hollow my cheeks as I suck on it, and Dorran starts to slowly pull the handle in and out of my mouth.
“Harder, Little Swan,” he orders. “I’m sure that mouth of yours can do better than this.”
Thunder crackles, and a second later, it’s pouring rain again.
I suck on the handle with as much pressure as I can, given how little space I have to move my head.
Dorran pushes the handle deep – to the back of my throat – and I gag. He pulls it out, and then pushes it in again. “That’s right; suck it. Suck it like you would my cock. Take it all in and show me how bad you want it.”
I moan, and he steps closer to me.
“You’re going to be the end of me,” he tells me, then scans my face. “And I promise you, if you take me down, I’m taking you to hell with me.”
My pussy aches; my nipples harden. The things this man says drive me to the brink of insanity.
He tightens his fingers on my throat again, then all but shoves the handle to the very back of my mouth.
My eyes widen as I try to gasp, but end up gagging instead. My head presses against the pillar as I heave, but Dorran doesn’t stop. He keeps shoving the switchblade’s handle in and out of my mouth – faster and faster. There’s spit dripping down my chin now, and a few tears fall down to my temples.
Suddenly, he pulls the handle out of my mouth, releases my throat, and takes a single step back. Then he watches me – slowly, deviously – and tilts his head to the side.
“Take off your shorts.”
I swallow, and it hurts. “Why?” I ask. My voice sounds broken to my ears.
“Did you go to Gavin after you left Finesse?” he questions. He’d asked me earlier if I would, and I’d told him I wouldn’t. I meant that.
“No,” I say.
“Do you want him?” His eyes narrow just a little after he asks that.
I scoff. “Are you asking me this because you care, or because you’re simply curious?”
He straightens his head. “Neither.”
I swipe the back of my hand over my spit-covered chin. “Then why ask at all?”
“Because, Little Swan…” He leans in and braces both of his forearms on the pillar, above my head. “I don’t share my shit with anyone, least of all with scums like him.”
There’s so much to unpack in that one sentence, that I take a moment and let it play in my head a second time.
The rain picks up further, and as gusts of wind blow by us, I can smell the sweat, cologne, and Earth on Dorran.
“So you do care, then,” I say. “Liar.”
He hesitates. “More like I’m undecided on it.” He makes a soft humph kinda sound. “Yeah, let’s go with undecided for now.”
“Fine,” I state.
“Fine,” he repeats.
We stare at each other for a long beat or two, and then I cut through the silence by clicking my tongue.
“You called me a shit,” I quip.
His lips quirk up. “Did I?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, I ain’t apologizing for that.”
I lift my left leg and gently nudge his cock with my knee.
His eyes darken to molten sapphire, and he rocks his hips against my leg, making me grin.
“You said I’m yours,” I tell him. “But you barely even know me.”
“You became mine the second our eyes met,” he says. “But if you want that asshole instead, then I gotta know now, because if I find you with him after you’ve told me otherwise, then it won’t end well.” He smirks, and a piercing chill runs down my already cold spine. “Both for you, and for him.”