by T. L. Martin
“Wanna show me?” I ask, trying again.
This time she pauses. She puts her crayon down. Then she holds up the skull, turning it so I can see the front.
My jaw spasms.
“Holy shit,” the kid beside me mumbles through a chuckle. “That’s fucking twisted.”
It’s red. All of it, from top to bottom.
Except she’s caked on so much of the crayon that it actually looks like a bloodbath.
I swallow, No Name’s question about Katerina echoing in my mind. Yeah, I think about what I wanna do to her.
“You’re pretty good,” I mutter, a bitter taste on my tongue. “Looks just like the real thing.”
She beams as she turns the skull back around, her smile wider than I’ve ever seen it. Well, she should be proud. It’s impressive for a fucking five-year-old to capture blood so well.
I’m just about to rest my head against the wall when a small voice pulls my gaze across the room again. I squint, realizing she’s singing as she goes back to coloring. She’s not actually using words, but still, I’ve never heard her hum before.
Until now, I’d never heard her make a sound.
I don’t recognize the tune, but it’s slow and soft. Kinda creepy, actually.
“Creepy shit right there,” No Name echoes my thoughts.
The corner of my mouth tips up as I lean back and close my eyes, listening. We’re all screwed in the end, but there’s something about knowing I played a part in getting the girl without a voice to sing.
Even if she is covered in red.
“I desire very little, but the things I do consume me.”
—Beau Taplin
I take my time shaving, stroke after slow stroke, knowing Emmy waits for me just outside the door.
My jaw ticks beneath the razor as last night replays in my head. Over and over, I watch her mouth fall open as I fuck her, hear my name on her tongue when she comes. Feel the burning slice in my back as she loses herself, then her soft, stained fingers sliding down my face.
Shit.
Tossing the razor beside the sink, I lean forward and splash cold water on my face. My wound aches at the strain, still raw with the stitches Aubrey gave me several hours ago. I keep my eyes shut for a minute. Everything inside me starves for Emmy, urging me to peel back whatever other dark secrets she’s hiding behind those innocent eyes.
In all the years prior to abstaining, I’d never had a woman able to pull me out of it—out of the blinding depths that take over those final moments I relinquish my control. Yet Emmy did. Then she went and outdid me. Seeing her soul stripped of pretense as she held my knife, as my blood decorated her skin—it was fucking spellbinding.
I don’t know how, or when, she got under my skin, but she’s liquid in my veins. I feel her with every beat of my pulse. There is no avoiding her. For better or for worse, she’s shackled to me now.
I step into the bedroom and pace to my closet, grabbing a black button-down and slipping it on. Turning as I work the buttons, I spot Emmy leaning against my dresser. She’s raking me over, licking her lower lip like she wants to do that climbing thing she does.
My cock is weak. He immediately stands at attention.
I grit my teeth as the sutures below my shoulder graze my shirt. The sting makes me think of Emmy’s euphoric expression when she stabbed me, which makes me want to fuck her again, which is irritating because I have shit to do and can’t spend all day between her legs.
Fuck. That image doesn’t help.
A quiet growl rumbles through me. “Keep looking at me like that and I’ll need new stitches before my meeting.”
She bites her lip but drops her gaze. Intrigue and guilt. Interesting pair. She thinks she did something wrong last night. And, yet, she liked it.
She works so hard to hide herself. Makes me curious who made her think she had to in the first place.
Once I’m fully dressed, I walk to the dresser and grab my phone, opening a text from Felix. “Let’s go,” I mutter without looking up.
“But I’m not presentable. I have to stop by the spa.”
I arch a brow, then bring my gaze to hers. “You’re not what?”
She shifts her feet, gesturing from her face to her heels. “Presentable. For you.” When I say nothing, she adds, “Hair, makeup, nails . . .”
I look her up and down. She’s in her uniform—tight black dress and heels. Little fucked up since that’s the same thing Katerina wore in the studio, but everyone has issues, and we stopped trying to make sense of ours a long-ass time ago. Her hair is down, black and long. Her lips are soft and pouty. Light freckles I hadn’t noticed before dust her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. Her blue eyes are bright and centered on me, right where they should be. She looks fucking perfect to me.
I rub my palm down my jaw, my eyes flicking back to those lips. I had my first taste last night, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to shove her mouth open with my tongue. I wanted to take that part of her too.
But I don’t kiss. It’s one line I won’t cross, not even with her. Kissing is intimate, and I don’t do intimate.
Tearing my gaze from her mouth, I turn and head for the door. “You’re fine,” I mutter, staring straight ahead as we exit. “No more visits to the spa, understand?”
There’s a pause, my words echoing in the hall as she trails behind me.
“I understand,” she says softly.
Something about her tone makes my shoulders stiffen. It’s warm and affectionate, two things that don’t belong anywhere near me. I’m made of ice, a place where warm things go to die.
Clenching my fist, I stop just outside Raife’s office door. When I finally look at her, I know my expression is as cold as my soul would be if I had one. But the second I find her wide eyes already locked on me, her chin tilted and her lower lip between her teeth, unspoken words I didn’t anticipate burn painfully inside my mind.
Instead what comes out is, “You’re here because I’m your master.” I can’t function without you. “Your duty is to serve me.” I’m chained to every move you make. “That’s all this fucking is.” You’re all there fucking is.
Her gaze drifts to my clenched fist, and when she drags it back up to meet mine, she gives a slow nod. “Yes, Master.”
Heat coils around me, pulling my muscles taut as her voice lingers in my ears. Working my jaw, I push the door open. “You and following damn instructions.”
Her lips quirk before she passes me and makes her way toward my usual chair, diagonal from Raife’s empty desk. Still standing in the doorway, my eyes flick from Griff to Felix. “Where is he?”
Felix brings his glass of whiskey to his lips. “In the front house. We got another offer for a buyout. He’s shutting it down.”
Griff grunts as his gaze trails Emmy, pausing on every curve, and my eyes narrow. “You don’t get to look at her,” I grumble, tracing my fingers over the knife inside my pocket. I feel Emmy watching me, but my focus is on Griff.
He shifts his attention to me and scowls. “Since when do you make my decisions?”
“Since you broke the rules and lost the right to make your own.”
He snarls but keeps quiet.
Just as I move toward Emmy, the door opens behind us. Raife strolls inside and heads to his desk, slowing halfway when he notices Emmy leaning against my chair. I grit my jaw. In light of professionalism, I’d planned on waiting until after the meeting to finish what he started yesterday. But one wrong move and that flimsy plan goes to shit.
Typical Raife, he opens his mouth before he even circles his desk. “Well, isn’t this sweet.” He smirks as he glances between us, and I instinctively move closer to her. “I gotta say, I’m impressed you’re still keeping it together, brother. Must be a pussy made of magic.” He winks at her, then runs the back of his fingers down the fresh cut I left on his cheek. “Gonna have to test it for mysel—”
I’m behind him before he finishes his sentence. I pull his hands behind his back
and use my leg to shove him against the desk, keeping him rooted to the spot. After whipping my knife open, I hold it with my free hand less than an inch from the vein in his neck.
Griff stands, braced to fight. Felix stays in his seat and downs the rest of his whiskey.
Raife’s deep chuckle makes the knife brush skin. “Finally,” he groans. “Yes, old friend. Throw away the key and come out to play.”
A dry smile tips my lips. I tighten my grip on him. “Not today, brother. This revenge isn’t mine.”
The room falls silent, and Felix shifts in his chair as he watches me transfer my focus to Emmy. Confusion etches into her forehead, her eyes locked on mine in silent question.
Moving the knife from Raife’s neck, I extend it to her. “A cut for a cut.”
Raife wasn’t the one who tore into her stomach, but he may as well have been. And with all the shit he’s pulled on her since her arrival, I know she’s burning to make him pay.
A swallow passes through her throat as she stares between the knife and Raife. I can almost feel the anger, burning like fire, under his skin.
His eyes turn to slits. He digs his shoulder into me, but I hold him in place. “You’re gonna fucking regret this, Adam,” he seethes. “No fucking way would I let Katerina cut into you.”
I shove him against the desk, hard enough to pull a groan from him. “She is not Katerina,” I bite out. “She had nothing to do with any of that shit.”
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head, his chest heaving. “You so sure about that?”
My gaze narrows when I glance at Felix, but he just shrugs. Griff’s lip curls as he watches Emmy. When I look at her, her eyes are wide and she’s shaking her head. “I have no idea who Katerina is, Adam. I swear.”
Uncertainty grips my veins, despite the fact I know that’s Raife’s intention. Emmy isn’t lying. Anyone could see that just from her expression. Still, the resemblance is too striking to keep any of us from questioning it. Not to mention her age. She would have been exactly Sofia’s age at the time we were there.
I watched Sofia die with Katerina. I’ve seen Emmy’s file, her family, her home.
Gritting my teeth, I slide the knife across the desk. Emmy’s gaze drops, and a shaky exhale pours from her mouth. She takes a slow step forward.
Raife’s fucked with her enough.
“Her soul was too deep to explore
by those who always swam in the shallow end.”
—A.J. Lawless
I wrap my fingers around the knife’s warm handle and let the full weight of the weapon settle in my palm. It’s heavy and powerful. It feels like Adam.
Warmth trickles into my bones as I look back at him.
His muscles strain against his shirt as he forces Raife to straighten, and his eyes run so deep I’m sure he holds my soul in them. If I stare too long, I could drown in his depths.
Until Adam, no one had ever offered me something like this. The right to own myself and all that affects me. He’s granting me his trust, and with that, I can’t help but trust myself.
When Raife’s glare pulls my attention to him, a shiver crawls up my spine. Still, I inch closer, until my hip brushes the desk.
“I don’t know who Katerina is,” I say again, this time to him.
“So you’ve said.” He stares daggers at me as I untuck his shirt, and I’m actually grateful.
I’m so used to his theatrics—from the Dark Room to the chandelier, leaving me to burn then setting me up for Griff. Anger dances in my lungs and climbs up my throat. I almost swallow it back down, but then I remember I don’t have to.
I don’t have to pretend.
Leaning forward, I unbutton the lower half of his shirt then slide my gaze back to Adam. Hesitation burns in my gut as I watch him, letting the knife’s tip hover below Raife’s ribcage. I don’t know what I expect—for him to change his mind now that he sees me going through with it? To reject the side of me that finds pleasure in being able to make Raife pay? Whatever I’m waiting for, Adam doesn’t give it to me. He patiently observes, his eyes tracking my every move.
Finally, I make my first cut. It’s shallow like mine, but still enough to feel the tear beneath my fingers. As the blade slides across Raife’s skin, his muscles tense, but he doesn’t make a sound. I don’t want to see his expression, so I stare at his stomach. It’s pretty, really, if you focus on the colors and the way they spill. His red is the same shade as Adam’s, a slightly deeper hue of crimson than mine, and it runs down his body like it’s trying to escape.
Moving an inch lower, I start on the next. My breaths come out soft and weightless, and I’m drifting with each gentle movement. If the knife were my paintbrush and his body the canvas, I’d blend some black with the crimson to make it murky like his soul. Then I’d add a splatter of cherry around the edges to top off the madness that it sprouts. I think he’d like it, stripped down but maintaining the flare he loves so much.
The third and final cut takes a little longer since it’s the largest. Letting one end curve up more than the other, I tilt my head and smile. It looks just like one of his smirks.
After a moment, when the rest of the room comes back into view and I look at the stained weapon in my hand, I feel the blood drain from my face. With a long exhale, I take several wobbly steps back.
“Well, that was . . .” Felix pauses, clears his throat. “Unexpected.”
My gaze finds Raife’s, and goose bumps race down my arms. I’ve never seen his eyes run so dark.
“And now, brother,” Raife spits, his eyes latched on mine. “Still so certain there’s no Katerina in her blood?”
I have no idea what he’s referring to, but the insinuation is clear. I close my eyes, wishing I could take it back. I didn’t know it would feel like painting. That it’d be able to carry me away. And now they all know it, too.
Back home, I worked in solitude when I put my brush to the canvas. Art is a private piece of me. Now, I may as well have displayed all my canvases for the Matthews to inspect. When my eyes dart back to Raife’s torso, torn and red, I swallow hard.
No, I’m far worse than a girl who paints madness on a canvas.
Today, I painted with blood.
It takes a minute to find the courage to look at Adam. If he didn’t see enough to reject me before, he will now. They always do.
When I meet his gaze, a warm tremor ghosts through my body. His eyes are hooded, his posture constricted and intense. Yet there’s something gentle, familiar, behind the depths of his eyes and in the set of his mouth. I think I could get high on that look alone.
He releases Raife but doesn’t take his eyes off me. With each slow step he takes toward me, I’m left a little more breathless. When he reaches me and leans down, his arm curling around my waist, I shiver. His lips touch my ear, and his warm breath skates over my throat. “You look stunning when you’re not hiding.”
My eyelids flutter shut, and I whisper, “I don’t want to hide. Not from you.”
“So don’t.” When he nips below my jaw, my toes curl. “Show me everything.”
“Crawl inside this body,
find me where I am most ruined—
love me there.”
—Rune Lazuli
The toes of Adam’s shoes connect with my own as he walks into me, guiding me backwards with each step he takes toward the office’s exit.
“Hello?” Felix calls. “Meeting, anyone?”
Raife’s bitter voice follows, but I can’t make out his words over the hypnotic beat of my heart. Before we reach the threshold Adam slips his hands under my dress and grips the backs of my thighs. He drags me up his body until my legs lock around his hips. His tongue finds my neck, his grip holds me close, and a sigh pours out of me as he walks us into the adjacent room.
My head lolls to the side as his lips move toward my ear. When I scan the room, spotting an empty desk and leather sofa, I murmur, “Whose office is this?”
“Mine now,” he rasps, kicking t
he door shut behind him.
He crushes me against the wall, supporting me with one hand and undoing his pants with the other. A warm flutter in the pit of my stomach dips between my thighs as he works his zipper, my breath shortening in anticipation. I wrap my fingers around his neck, and he shifts me enough to yank my panties down my legs.
He pulls back to look at me, his eyes darting between mine for a long moment. I lick my lips, and his gaze drops. His pulse races against my palm, thump, thump, thump. Then he slams his cock into me with one hard movement, and a rough rumble tears through his chest as he fills me.
My head slumps back against the wall, my eyes falling shut. So full.
“Fuck, Emmy,” he groans, his forehead dropping to mine. For a second, he stays like that, our heavy breathing permeating the air as we absorb each other.
Slowly, he pulls out then glides back in. A long shudder passes through him. He does it again and again, smooth and methodical, and I can’t stop a shiver from wracking my body.
God, yes.
I grip his hair and roll against him.
Lightly cradling my jaw with his fingers, he angles my head so I’m looking at him. His shoulders are tense with restraint, a thousand flames burning in his eyes and melting my sanity.
“How did it feel?” he croaks, deepening his strokes. He leans down, his eyes closing as his nose brushes my cheek. “How did it feel when you cut into him?”
My chest squeezes as I watch Adam. The barely contained gentleness of his touch on my face. The agony coating his voice. As though every bone in his body depends on my answer. “It felt—” A moan spills from my lips, the sensation still lingering in my mind as he continues to fuck me slowly. “It felt like . . . like art.”
A tremor rolls through him. He lets out an uneven breath as his lips brush my ear, his smooth jaw stroking my cheek. After a second, his pumps become a little faster, harder, and his voice turns gruff. “Are you an artist, Emmy?”
I close my eyes, sinking into him. “I don’t know what I am,” I breathe. “I just . . . am.”