by Luna Quinn
However, he wasn’t dumb enough to voice that out loud. Sasha had proven just how deadly she could be, and with how angry she currently was over whatever he’d fucked up for her, he had no doubt she could do some serious damage.
“I can’t fucking believe this. You motherfucker.” She hissed, pushing him against the wall again.
Again, he let her. Razor acknowledged that he had obviously screwed up, so he probably deserved her anger. Once she calmed down, they could sort it all out.
Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling every single one of her hits. Fucking ouch.
She packed some serious power. He just wished it was being used on him for a completely different reason. Her nails were digging into his chest—even through his T-shirt—and it was making him tingle in certain places. Another thing he wouldn’t dare voice. So he kept his mouth shut and didn’t add any more fuel to her fire.
“Fuck!” She fisted his shirt tighter, her breathing ragged.
He wanted to say something, but then that new awareness of her—the one he had been trying hard to ignore—rushed over him. It made his breath hitch. The feeling was deep enough that even his Hellhound side perked up, recognized something that Razor was probably too hardheaded to grasp. But Goddess help him, he just had no idea what to make of it.
“What happened? Say something, you asshole!”
That was enough to get his brain back on track. Flicking his smoke away, he decided that at this point, anything he said wouldn’t make a difference. He’d fucked up; he’d already admitted that to Locke, though he wasn’t entirely certain how yet, so he’d take responsibility. Because it was obviously in some terrible way for her to be this furious at him.
“All right, pretty girl. Why don’t we just talk, okay?” he said evenly, trying to pull her hands away from his shirt. Some of the smoke from his mouth must have reached her because her nose scrunched up.
She pushed him even harder against the wall. “Do you even know what you just did?”
Impatience sparked to life. Since it didn’t look like she was letting him go anytime soon, Razor relaxed his body, attempting to remain cordial. But he couldn’t stop his growing irritation from leaking through his next words. “Locke has been pretty vague, as are you. But he did said something about Salvaes and soul saving, or something. I’m really fucking sorry, Sasha. My bad.”
Yes, it would have been easy to apologize in a more sincere way, and yes, it was a dick move to sound like he couldn’t care less, but being yelled at over something he had no idea about was starting to rub him the wrong way. He was an easygoing guy, but this was pushing it. But also, as was usually the case with her, every time they got into it, he really couldn’t help himself. At fault or not, goading her was almost like his go-to reaction. It was either that, or blatantly tell her how much he wanted her. Either would probably earn him another broken nose.
“Your bad?” she snarled, her accent thicker. “How could you not have known this one was off limits? You supposedly fucking rule Shadow Realm.”
His mood soured further, and his patience came to an end. He felt a muscle tick in his jaw.
“I do rule this land,” he said, his tone no longer friendly. “But you seem to keep forgetting it.”
He suddenly wished Sasha would take a shot at him, because he was heading straight into a dark mood, and if they both didn’t stop, there would be consequences they both wouldn’t like. She didn’t, of course, and only glared harder, more defiantly, at him.
He reached up and gripped her wrists, prying her hands away from his shirt and holding her firmly. Not enough to hurt, not yet. He would never injure her, but he needed to make her understand that she was getting close to crossing the line between friendly quarreling over a disagreement and blatant disrespect.
“Don’t touch me,” she spat, trying—albeit, with little success—to pull her wrists free. “You don’t understand what you’ve just cost me.”
Catching the panicked tone in her voice, Razor took a calming breath and loosened his grip on her wrists. She was right, he didn’t understand. “Then explain it to me.”
Neither she nor Locke looked inclined to enlighten him, so maybe he actually had to ask for an explanation in order to stop the verbal lashing and get some answers instead.
Razor allowed her to pull her wrists free.
She scoffed. “As if someone like you would understand.”
“Someone…like me?” He knew his voice was near a growl, but she was now past disrespect and veering into dangerous territory, and at super speed.
“If you rule Shadow Realm, then you should know what the fuck is going on in your land. You should have known he was off limits. You are a pathetic ‘judge. ’”
He saw red, baring his fangs at her in a snarl. Razor prided himself in being the best at what he did, but it seemed that he’d been off his game lately. She’d nailed the shot, almost as if she had known those words would hit him right where it hurt the most.
Sasha had to know she was being unreasonable and obtuse.
“Well, shit, I must have missed the Reaper Newsletter,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me, little Reaper, how was I to know that this bastard was important to you in some way? Because you and your Reaper buddies are so good at sharing information, and trust me, I don’t doubt for a minute that there’s a lot you’re not telling us about these missing souls. Oh wait, I got it. Was I supposed to just know he was off limits? I’m a lot of things, Sasha, but psychic isn’t one of them. Had I known he was someone to you, I would have gone about this a different way.”
Sasha snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re such a fucking liar.”
In two moves, he had her twisted around, her back to his chest and her hands behind her back. Her gasp told him he had caught her off guard.
He growled against her ear. “This is the last time I’m going to be nice about this, Sasha. Because I like the three of you Reapers, I will give you a last warning about your fucking disrespect. I said I didn’t know about your Salvae, and I meant it. Don’t ever question my word again, or you and I will have bigger problems than this anger you seem to have towards me.”
“Razor,” Locke said warningly, taking a step towards them.
Razor’s gaze shot to the blond Reaper. “Stay the fuck out of this, Locke. I’ve seen her fight and handle a gun; she doesn’t need your help. Do not come any closer.”
He tightened his hold on Sasha as if she were prey, snarling at the other man. Locke bared his teeth, but otherwise stayed put. Good call.
Although his gaze remained on the other man, his attention returned to Sasha. He fought the sudden temptation to lick her in front of Locke. Another thing that didn’t make any sense.
Taking a few calming breaths before speaking, Razor said to her, “Don’t make working with you harder than it already is.”
He was so close he could smell the scent of her hair and skin; something fresh and coconuty. He almost moaned. Underneath that, her base scent called to him—thunderstorms by the beach. Razor’s chest rumbled with a desire for her that was so strong, he was sure he was shaking from the restraint it took to keep himself in check.
The Hellhound side of him was demanding he lean down and swipe up that fragrance straight from her throat—to take her essence into himself. But he held back, the other part of him reminding him what a huge mistake that would be.
And then something in the air between them changed. The softest moan from Sasha reached his ears, combined with a very subtle press of her ass against him, and his Hellhound side won out. Before he could think better of it, he responded to her unexpected reaction.
In a swift movement, his nose was pressed to her skin and his body was cocooning itself over hers, a quiet rumbling of pleasure coming from his chest.
Then he touched his tongue to Sasha’s pulse point.
Fuck.
Big mistake. Her taste exploded on his tongue, melting deliciously, his entire body sparking to li
fe.
More.
With everything he had, even as Sasha shivered, her ass pushing back against him, he fought the urge to drag his entire tongue down her neck for more of her taste. For several heartbeats he struggled to remember why he shouldn’t. Then his brain helped by sending a very loud Danger! Danger!
The warning snapped him back into focus, thank fuck. Still, he had to forcefully pull his head away from her. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she might have whimpered in protest.
Razor swallowed as he regained his composure.
“You’ve been warned,” he said, his voice coming out as unsteady as he felt.
Backing away slowly, his body almost reluctant to leave his woman—
Oh no, no, no. Not yours. Not yours. Not. Yours.
His eyes on Locke, Razor spun just as soon as he was out of the alley and speed walked his ass out of there.
Chapter Eleven
You’ve been warned.
No other three words had ever made her angrier.
Or wetter.
Or more enraged. Her body couldn’t decide if it was more turned on or pissed off. Which only left her frustrated.
And that fucking lick… How messed up was it that her knees had nearly given out when he’d swiped his tongue along her neck? She’d opened her mouth to curse him, but ended up panting or something, her head clouded by lust. She’d been glad when Razor had said those three words to knock the sense back into her.
She couldn’t be confused around him. She was supposed to be focused only on their mission together, on her mission, not their fatal chemistry.
By some fucking miracle, her fingers didn’t shake as she rubbed a wrist from where he had held it too tightly. Breathing in deep, she pushed back her fear of this attraction between them. It was so far beyond what she was used to, and she didn’t know how to handle it. But it wasn’t helping anything right now and served no place in her mind.
When she swung her gaze back to Locke, he frowned deeply, looking far too serious. Was that pity in his eyes? Fucking Hellfire, she didn’t need this.
“I’m sorry, Sash… If I had known, I would have stopped him. I—”
Her eyes narrowed, and she cut off whatever he was going to say. “Stop, Locke. Save your breath. It’s dead.” Literally. Her eyes flicked down to the body on the ground. “Do your job.”
She knew she was being harsh, and Locke didn’t deserve that, but she didn’t like how unstable Razor made her, and she was protecting herself the only way she knew how: with a tough attitude and armor around her emotions.
She was turning away when he found his voice again. “But what about you? What about…” His gentle tone trailed off, clearly not wanting to prod at her open wound with the lost chance of redemption. Locke thought he could heal the world, but there was no saving her.
He didn’t understand, but she didn’t fault him for it. No matter how hard she fought whatever destiny was laid in front of her, she would fail. Every time. It was clear where she would end up.
Obviously, she wasn’t worthy of Heaven. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still made her heart twist with pain. She had never been worthy. Happiness just wasn’t meant for her. How many lifetimes had proven that?
She didn’t even want to think about it. Now her hands were shaking, hot emotion swirling within her. Her one final redemption, gone. Everything she’d struggled with, everything she’d fucking sacrificed, taken away from her by a careless Hellhound and his rifle. Though, deep inside, she knew it hadn’t really been his fault, but hers. She had clearly missed the call to her Salvae. Yet the burning anger—lust, frustration, whatever—she felt for Razor wouldn’t let her move on.
She took a deep breath, but red tinted her vision, filling it. Anger once again replaced her pity party, and she welcomed it.
“Get this soul the fuck out of my sight and go home.” Her tone, flat and deadly, brooked no argument. She hated lashing out at Locke, who had never done a thing wrong to her, but she couldn’t stop herself. And Locke didn’t seem to mind. She swore she felt more of Locke’s sympathy, but she couldn’t look at him again.
She transported herself to Sector One, her intention clear. Her boots pounded the pavement, her stride wide and steady in pace. The Night House loomed in the distance.
Her nails bit into the flesh of her palm, her knuckles itching to draw Razor’s blood. Give him a taste of pain. Because no matter how hard her fury rode her, the pain underneath was a living, breathing thing. Maybe she couldn’t run from it, but she knew how to mask it. Her blood was hot, but it wasn’t all anger, even now. She wanted to punch him as much as she wanted to kiss him, to take all that emotion out on their bodies. He’d deserve it for murdering her last hope. For just being in the wrong place at the wrong time…by simply existing. Illogical, yeah, but fuck it.
Even as she pictured her fists pounding at the Hellhound’s face until it didn’t resemble the one that haunted her anymore, another part of her pictured his cock pounding angrily into her, relentless and oh-so-fucking perfect.
She snarled loudly at her thoughts as she turned the corner, avoiding the front of the club.
She didn’t know where he was, but she wasn’t going to stop until she had him in her hands again.
Chapter Twelve
The engine of Razor’s favorite Harley echoed off the walls dick-hardening loud as he revved it over and over out of sheer frustration.
He wanted to punch something, to hear the satisfying sound of pain-filled grunts—his or an opponent’s, it wouldn’t matter at this point. He just needed to feel anything other than…this.
Confusion, frustration, anger? Who the fuck knew, maybe all of the above.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting on his bike replaying everything that had gone down with Sasha, all the while willing his erection to die. He was still trying to decide whether he was angry because he was hard for her, even after she acted like such a brat, or if he was hard because she made him so damn angry.
His brain hurt from trying to sort through all his emotions.
After leaving the two Reapers in the alley, he had come back to the Night House—which had been closer than his house—gone up to his private rooms, and jerked off. Twice.
But the small respite had lasted less than ten unsatisfying minutes. Sin had called shortly after his second orgasm to tell him they had found another melted body.
Peachy, he had thought as he’d wiped the come off his hand.
There had to be something he was missing. Some clue, some link he was overlooking. But what? He had puzzle pieces, but none were lining up.
Snarling, he ran a hand over his skull. I need a smoke. He reached to the leather pouch on his bike for his smokes, giving his hard cock the middle finger on the way.
How long ago had he sworn that he would keep it all business with Sasha? But there he’d been anyway, not hours ago, licking her up like she was his. And she most certainly wasn’t. Yet, he couldn’t say that the idea hadn’t sounded better and better the longer he’d let it bounce around in his skull. What he should have done was torn it from his mind the moment it had come into existence. Then again, Razor had never said he was smart.
She hadn’t smelled too opposed to the idea, either, now had she? his mind supplied kindly.
No, she hadn’t. But he really didn’t need to be reminded of that right now. Sasha might not have begged for his touch, but the scent of her arousal had definitely been there. It had caught him completely off guard. When they’d shared that passionate kiss, and again when he’d held her just a while ago, he had thought he’d detected warm arousal building within her. It’d been so brief and so elusive, though, that afterwards he had convinced himself that it had been his imagination.
Inhaling deeply again, he swallowed slowly. Goddess, there was still a resonance of her taste on his tongue and in his nose…
His skin shivered as he felt his beast move behind his skin, a whiny yip leaving its snout. It was a demand for more o
f her. Yeah, welcome to the fucking club, buddy. The line starts behind me.
A door banged open somewhere in the distance. Razor was up and off his bike a breath later, his smoke forgotten.
A rumble vibrated in his chest as his frustration grew to annoyance that someone had interrupted his sulking.
He listened carefully as the intruder moved closer. The light but angry stomping didn’t belong to any of his brothers. He pulled off his leather riding gloves, and then his rifle was in his hands a second later.
Aiming in the direction of the footsteps, he prepared to shoot first and ask questions later. The thought almost made him reel back in shock. He held steady, even as he blinked several times, attempting to push back the disconcerting idea that he was losing his edge as judge. Razor had never gone around contemplating killing random people over nothing more than intruding on his personal time.
Even as he told himself that the person walking in his direction could be nothing more than a club employee sent here by one of his brothers, an aggressive sort of force made Razor’s hold on the rifle tighten. His finger slid to the trigger.
Not even when the scent of thunderstorm hit him did his aggression wane. He was breathing heavily by the time Sasha rounded the corner. He couldn’t stop himself from snarling at her. What the fuck was she doing here? Was she here to insult him some more? If that was her purpose for seeking him out, then she’d better think twice. There were too many dark emotions battling for supremacy inside him. He couldn’t say that if she didn’t turn back, he’d be able to guarantee that either of them would walk out of this parking garage unscathed.
Sasha’s incredible turquoise eyes locked on his where he stood. Razor lowered his rifle. Vicious anger washed over him as he gazed at equally angry eyes. What the fuck was she so mad about? He’d apologized to her, hadn’t he? Even though he still didn’t know what great offense he’d committed back at the alley.
Neither of them said anything—words felt unnecessary when their eyes were doing all the talking—as she marched up to him, strides livid, beautiful eyes looking at him like she wanted to slit his throat while devouring his mouth.