Chapter 15
Grace
Henley stared at me expectantly from the end of the bed. I’d barely been awake five minutes before he began filling my aching head with a ridiculous plan.
I slid out from under the warm covers, thankful I was at least decent as I immediately headed out of my bedroom and for the kitchen.
Coffee. Nothing would be happening before coffee today.
“An answer would be nice,” Henley nagged, of course following close behind.
I combed a hand through my hair, the unruly black strands likely sticking up at odd angles. I wasn’t a pretty sleeper by any means, but drunk? I was surprised he was even still here after seeing the state I was likely in.
I popped a pod in the machine, setting a cup under the spout. While it warmed, I scooped two spoonfuls of brown sugar into the glass. When I flipped the spoon over, I caught a glimpse of my reflection.
Squinting, I brought the spoon closer to my face.
Is that mascara under my eyes?
I swiped under my waterline, black staining the pad of my finger. The spoon was yanked from my grip, but little did he know, I was done with it. He could stick the utensil up his ass if he liked.
“Grace.”
The machine spurted a few last drops of espresso into the glass, but my patience was nonexistent this morning.
I grabbed the cup before it could finish, opened the freezer, scooped a shit ton of ice in it, then popped the glass lid on and shook like my life depended on it.
I turned to find Henley staring at me, arms crossed and a broody look on his face.
He couldn’t have woken up too long before me, yet still, he looked immaculate. Thick biceps strained the sleeves of his shirt, hair as messy as always. The man didn’t even have a thicker five-o’clock shadow to show for the long night.
What a lucky asshole.
He seemed unamused by my obnoxious shaking of the espresso and ice, but I knew he had at least one brain cell this morning because he kept his lips sealed.
7:00 a.m. was far too early to hear a man talk.
Popping the lid off, I tossed it in the sink, not caring if it shattered. Then I dumped oat milk and sweet cream in until the foam reached the brim. Aggressively, I shoved a glass straw in and gulped down the delectable liquid.
With half the contents gone, I finally released the straw and looked at him.
Henley gave me an impatient stare. “Are you done?”
I held up a finger, taking another long sip. As I swallowed, I closed my eyes, waiting for that lovely kick of caffeine to work its way through my system. With my lids still closed, I said, “Speak.”
“Did you hear what I said while you were in bed?”
“Quite often, I find myself not listening when you talk.”
He frowned. “This isn’t funny, Grace. You have a hit on your head, or have you forgotten?”
I shrugged, taking another sip. What a way to wake a girl up—word vomit and reminding her of her inevitable death.
“Being murdered means no more lattes,” Henley so thankfully reminded me.
I paused, glaring at him with the straw still in my mouth.
He quirked a brow in challenge.
The man had a point.
I straightened, keeping the glass gripped firmly in front of my chest. “Repeat this stupid plan of yours.”
He sighed, pressing a thumb and pointer finger into his eyes before opening his mouth again.
This time, the caffeine gave me the energy to listen.
“We need to make it look believable,” Henley chastised.
My nostrils flared, my knife sitting heavy in its sheath attached to my thigh. I was wearing black jean shorts with fleece thigh-high tights and an old oversized tee, so the strap was on full display. “I don’t want to bloody my good knife.”
I had knives for certain tasks. My good knife was for emergencies. My bad knife was stained, dented, and used on scumbags. That one had unfortunately been forgotten at my house.
Henley crossed the storage unit—the same one he’d held me in days ago—heading straight for me. I walked backward with each step he took until my back hit the concrete wall. He didn’t stop until he was directly in front of me.
“Touch my knife and I’ll kill you,” I warned.
His head cocked. “Didn’t work the first two times.”
I smiled. “Remember what I said the other day? Third time’s the charm.”
My breath hitched as his fingers grazed my thigh. He was really going to take my knife and—
He slid it out of its sheath slowly, his gaze falling to my parted lips.
I leaned my head back against the wall, attempting to keep my glare on him despite the heat spreading between my legs.
He slid the tip of the blade up my stomach, the point catching on my clothes as he went.
He moved so there was enough room to hold the knife between our chests, waiting for me to take it.
“You first.” His voice was rough and heavy, lower than before. It did things to my pussy I didn’t want to talk about.
Jerkily, I grabbed the handle in one hand and tugged up the bottom of his shirt with my other. With his stomach exposed, I looked down, losing myself in the sight of his muscles barely peeking through his skin.
He was a perfect mixture of hard and soft, hot and cold—it made me too fucking horny.
Pissed at the things he made me feel, I wasted no time slicing his abdomen with the blade. He hissed in a breath, jaw clenching against the bite of pain.
Hurting him brought me far too much pleasure.
It wasn’t a deep cut—just enough to make him bleed so it would stain his shirt and be visible. This needed to look like an attack, yet getting to that point was feeling anything but.
It felt way too goddamn intimate.
A dribble of blood ran down his stomach, past his belly button to the smattering of hair that disappeared into his jeans.
He grabbed the knife from my grip, yanking me from my stupor. I could get lost in this man’s body.
No, Grace. Bad. I do not like him.
But I could look.
I shook my head at myself as he set a palm on my cheek. His thumb ran over my skin, oddly soothing despite the unavoidable bite of pain that was to come.
But instead of immediately cutting me like I expected he would, he ran the tip of the blade from my chin down the column of my neck.
I sucked in a breath as he hooked the knife in one of the holes littering the top of my shirt and tugged.
The material snapped easily, exposing more of the skin on my chest.
He applied more pressure as he sliced along my collarbone.
Warmth dripped down my skin, disappearing beneath my shirt as it trailed between my breasts.
His eyes followed the path hungrily as he pulled the knife away.
With the handle still gripped in his fist, he propped his hand against the wall beside my head.
“Have I told you you’re beautiful?” he asked huskily, his gaze homed in on that spot.
“No,” I breathed, chest rising and falling with my deepening breaths. Each one had my breasts pressing against his chest, sending more heat throbbing between my thighs.
“Good,” he murmured. His head dipped, tongue lapping at my wounded skin.
A sting of pain had me hissing through my teeth, but it quickly melted into pleasure as he slid up my neck, likely smearing blood in his wake.
His teeth dug into the sensitive flesh at my pulse, causing me to gasp.
“Henley.”
His body stiffened. “Don’t say my name.”
I was breathless. “Why?”
He paused, his nose tickling behind my ear and breath sending goosebumps down my spine.
I squeezed my eyes shut, shoving down every ounce of pain that came with his demand. It solidified my nagging fear that this wasn’t real to him. He was staying on task; meanwhile, I was losing sight of the plan with every swipe of his tongue.
Without another kiss, he stepped away, leaving me cold and aching. Heartless eyes met mine, and I hated the emptiness there.
“Text them.”