Chapter 21
Ishould have run for the front door.
Maybe if I’d been thinking clearly, I would have. I would have thrown open the door, tore down the hall, and not stopped until I was out on the street.
Unfortunately, my mind was anything but clear.
It was mixed up and muddled, filled with fear and disbelief, unable to process that the man that I’d just spent the afternoon leisurely lounging in the grass with was a killer.
And not just any kind of killer but a cold-blooded assassin who could talk about his crimes with the calm detachment of a true psychopath.
It was horrifying. Terrifying enough to unconsciously send me running to the only place where I’d felt safe since the day my sister died.
Unfortunately, that place happened to be Dorian’s bedroom.
I didn’t realize what I’d done until after I’d slammed the door behind me, effectively trapping myself at the farthest point from an exit in the apartment.
As fast as I could, I threw the lock on the bedroom door and immediately started looking around for a weapon. I needed something—anything—to protect myself.
But Dorian’s room was as neat and tidy as always, and the most menacing thing I could spot out in the open was an alarm clock.
Somehow, I doubted I’d be able to threaten my way out of here with a one-and-a-half-pound chunk of molded plastic.
This was ridiculous.
There had to be something.
I ran over to the bedside table and threw open the drawers, but every one was empty inside. If Dorian really was an assassin, then he had to have some weapons hidden in the house.
Hidden.
Of course, they’d be hidden.
I turned my head toward the closet. It was as likely a place as any. I rushed inside and started rifling through his sock and unswear drawers.
Nothing.
Shit.
“Kiera.”
Hearing my name, I froze. A cold shiver ran up my spine as the door hinges rattled as he tried to turn the locked knob.
“Kiera, open the door.”
No way in hell. Not after what I’d just heard. Not until I had something to defend myself with.
I moved faster, indiscriminately grabbing boxes from the top shelf and tossing them on the floor. Hats, neckties, and scarves floated down around me, but nothing helpful.
Until—clang.
One of the boxes hit the floor with far more force than the others. Its top flew off on impact, spilling out a treasure trove of heavy tools—crowbar, wrench, the nastiest looking set of rusty pliers I’d ever seen…and one long serrated hunting knife.
Deep down, I’d been hoping for a gun—the kind of weapon that would allow me to keep a comfortable distance from Dorian while I made my escape—but when the door busted open a second later, I decided the knife would work just fine.
“Kiera.”
I scooped it up off the floor and, extending it out in front of me like a fencing foil, stepped out of the closet.
I found Dorian standing in the center of the door frame. His eyes flashed from my face to the knife. “Put that down, Kiera.”
No way in hell.I shook my head.
“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, his shoulders broad enough to block the whole doorway. “Sal is gone. He’s not going to hurt you.”
“He’s not the one I’m afraid of,” I said, my voice shaking as violently as my hands.
The lines around Dorian’s eyes deepened. The muscles along his jaw tightened as he swallowed down hard. “You’re… You’re afraid of me?”
How could he sound so hurt and surprised? He was an assassin, for God’s sake.
I gestured at him with the knife. “Get out of my way, Dorian. I’m leaving.”
He didn’t move an inch. He didn’t even act as if he’d heard what I’d said. His look of confusion only deepened. “Why would you be afraid of me? I haven’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”
“You killed Carlo. You just admitted it.”
“I killed him for you.”
“Don’t say that.” I shook my head violently, desperately trying to shake off any of the blame. “Don’t drag me into this.”
“Drag you?” He gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “My love, you dove headlong into this the first day we met. You’re the one who couldn’t stop staring, remember?”
“I didn’t know you were a professional killer.”
“Bullshit.” He tossed the curse down like a gauntlet at my feet, challenging my comforting denial. “You might not have known the specifics, but you knew what I was the moment you looked at me—the second you saw these scars.”
To further prove his point, he peeled off his shirt and dropped it to the floor.
My mouth fell open, but I couldn’t deny it. The proof of his violent life was carved all over his body—just like it had always been.
Worse than any of that, though, was my reaction to the sight of his bare skin.
Even knowing who he was—what he was—I still couldn’t stop the instant rush of heat that washed through me or the pull I felt toward him.
Over the last few weeks, I’d let myself become blinded by those lustful impulses. The pleasure of his touch had led me straight into denial. Now, I was afraid my desire for him would land me in the morgue.
“Get out of my way, Dorian.”
He cocked his chin to the side just a touch. “Or…what?”
I tightened my grip on the handle of the knife. “Or I’ll make you move.”
“No, you won’t,” he said with absolute certainty.
I wasn’t expecting his quick dismissal to hurt my pride so much. I lifted my chin along with the tip of the blade. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve had to fight for my life before. I’ll do it again if I have to.”
“Oh, I know you’re tough as nails,” he said. “But there’s a big difference between defending yourself in the heat of the moment and walking up to an unarmed man and stabbing him in cold blood.”
“You would know.”
“You’re right. I do,” he said without blinking. “One is the primal instinct to survive; the other is a conscious choice to commit unprovoked violence. Most people aren’t capable of that second one. Someone with your goodness and compassion most definitely isn’t.”
“But you are,” I shot back.
He nodded. “I am.”
I backed up a step. “You almost sound proud of that.”
“The men I’ve put in the ground weren’t good people, Kiera,” he said. “They weren’t innocents. Most were downright evil—rapists and murderers that had body counts of their own.”
“You think that makes killing them all right?”
“I think it keeps it from being wrong.”
My chest grew tight at that kind of dark gray morality. “You weren’t talking about mercy killings out there, Dorian. You said you killed Carlo with strychnine. That’s a horrible way to die. No one deserves that.”
“He did,” Dorian answered without hesitation. “He deserved every second of agony that shot through his shaking body. Do you know why?”
I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t elaborate. I was afraid to know how he’d managed to rationalize murder…afraid I might end up agreeing with him.
But Dorian kept going.
“Because he hurt you,” he continued. “He attacked you. He hit you. He made you afraid to step outside your door…and for that, he deserved everything I did to him.”
As much as I hated to admit it, there was something brutally hot about hearing the passion in Dorian’s voice. No one had ever been so protective of me.
No one had ever cared enough.
That had become painfully clear in the days after my sister’s murder.
From what I read in the news and heard in the television interviews, everyone had been quick to buy Hollis’ story and believe the worst of me…even my own parents.
They begged me to turn myself in, to face justice for the terrible things they believed I’d done. My own mother said she never wanted to see me again.
It seemed a cruel irony that a professional killer was the only person who believed in my innate goodness.
At least for now.
“Okay, but what happens the day you decide that I’m the one who deserves to die?” I asked. “Are you going to inject me with rat poison too?”
His expression instantly hardened. “Don’t talk like that. Not even as a joke.”
“Does it look like I’m joking?” I waved the knife in front of me to prove my point.
The muscles along his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together. “I already promised I’d never hurt you.”
Sure, but I’d heard plenty of promises in my life: cops promising to work for justice, Hollis promising to love and cherish my sister, my parents promising they’d never turn their backs on me. I’d seen all of those shredded before my eyes.
Why would a promise from Dorian be any different?
“People lie all the time,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s what they actually do that matters…and what you do is kill.”
His eyes snapped to mine, shining with brilliant blue intensity. “Not when I’m with you.”
For the first time since he’d busted through the door, Dorian stepped closer, moving toward me with deliberate, lethal grace. My heart pounded in my chest, my pulse thundering in my ears, as I stumbled back in a desperate attempt to keep some distance between us.
“Stay back!” I shouted, jutting the knife out even further in front of me.
But Dorian didn’t look the least bit intimidated.
He easily sidestepped the trembling blade, wrapping his hand around my wrist. All it took was a small amount of pressure against the tendons and the slightest twist, and the knife instantly fell to the floor.
Dorian didn’t let go of me, though, not even now that I was defenseless.
Instead, he kept his grabbed onto my other wrist as he kept moving forward, shepherding me backward until my back hit the glass wall. Once there, he pinned my hands to the side and locked his eyes with mine.
“This is what I do when I’m with you,” he said before claiming my mouth in a brutally possessive kiss.
I knew I should have turned my face away. I should have struggled—wriggled and writhed and done everything I could to fight against what was happening. But, God help me, I didn’t want to.
The heat of his body pressing against mine, the soft feel of his lips, the electric shivers the swipe of his tongue sent up my spine—it was too much to resist. Despite my better judgment, I found myself kissing him back.
Just as hungrily. Just as desperately.
After nearly a full minute of kissing me senseless, Dorian released his hold on my wrists. With one fluid motion, he undid the button and zipper on my new pants before hooking his thumbs around the waist.
Bending his knees, he followed the jeans down to the floor before quickly slipping them off my ankles. I hissed in a breath as his palm slid up the back of my left calf, raising my leg and hooking it over his bare shoulder. Then he tilted his head back just far enough to look me in the eyes.
“And this is how I make you feel.” His voice rumbled up from between my legs as I shivered in anticipation.
A second later, his mouth surrounded me, his tongue pressed flat against the hard bud of my clit as he lapped at it again and again.
My head fell back against the window. My hands wrapped around his shoulders, my fingers curling tight against his taut skin as pleasure flooded my body,
“Oh God, Dorian. Please,” I cried out as he brought me dangerously close to the edge.
Before I could dive over the crest, he pulled back. I barely recognized the sound of his own zipper falling as he lifted himself back up.
“This is what I do to you,” he growled against my ear. “I make you scream my name. I make you beg for more.”
With my spine still pressed against the glass, he reached down and wrapped his hands around my thighs. Then, seemingly without effort, he lifted me up so that I could curl my legs around his waist.
“I fill you up,” he said before guiding my hips down far enough for my pussy to swallow his cock. “I take you hard.”
True to his word, he started to thrust—each stroke long and deliberate. I bit into my lip, but that didn’t stop the cries of pure ecstasy from slipping out.
And he didn’t stop.
“I make you shake,” he continued. “I make you come.”
Damn fucking right, he did.
And I was so close to doing just that. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes to focus on the sensation.
But I should have known that wasn’t going to fly.
In an instant, his fingers raked through my hair, pulling my head back up and my attention right back onto him and his sapphire blue eyes.
“And do you know why I do these things?” he demanded in a low growl
I shook my head, so drenched in desire that I could barely breathe, let alone talk.
Wrapping one arm around my back for support, he moved us back from the window and toward his bed. Without slipping away, he laid me down on top of the sheets.
“Because you’re mine,” he said, angling himself over me and punctuating the next thrust with another, “Mine.”
My whole body wrapped around him, fully accepting his words along with his passion.
“You’re my woman,” he swore with the same reverence as any sacred vow. “And I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. I’d tear the whole world to shreds to keep you from harm.”
“Oh God, Dorian,” I cried out. My back arched, my body pressing hard against him as I felt myself slipping past the point of no return.
And he was right there with me—his muscles tense and tight as he buried himself so deep inside me I thought I might burst.
Still growling against my ear with every last shivering thrust, “Mine…”
“Mine…”
“Mine.”
And this time, there was no denying it.