I became lost in a murderer. And it wasn’t as if he hid his venom behind that wickedly handsome face of his. He took every opportunity to show me the demon living within. He exposed me to his deepest, darkest depths, and still, I became entranced.
Fucking Stockholm.
“I can help you.” Easton closes in behind me, his hands sliding over my shoulders, his fingers massaging softly. “We can take him down together.”
I flinch. Tense.
Taking down Cole had been the driving force that pulled me into this mess in the first place. I’d wanted nothing more than to see him behind bars. Now all I can think of is seeing him between silk sheets.
“No.” I place my beer on the counter and turn to face him, his large frame looming over me, his hands falling to his sides. “I just want to forget. Okay?” I force a smile, pretending it’s all sunshine and optimism in this fucked up head of mine. “I’m going to take this last week off work and really pull myself together. Once I get back into my old routine I’ll be fine.”
“Is it this place?” He raises a brow, not backing out of my personal space. “Do you feel safe staying here on your own?”
I know where he’s going with this, just like I’ve known what all the lingering stares and constant touches mean. He wants to stay. To spend the night. Again.
“I’m fine. Really.” I reclaim my beer and slide out from in front of him, leading the way to the sofa. “And I appreciate everything you’re trying to do, but I don’t need saving.”
I slump back onto my seat, ignoring his approach as he comes to take up the vacant space at my side. I increase the volume on the television, hopefully giving a glaring indication I’m finished with this conversation, and attempt to relax.
One muscle at a time.
One breath.
We don’t talk for long moments. I use the lull to think long and hard about my situation.
Cole is my enemy. A manipulative predator who successfully brainwashed me into psychosis.
Easton is my partner. A protective, caring friend, who hasn’t grown tired of my constant PMS-on-steroids personality.
He’s safe.
He’s trustworthy.
He’s…not Cole.
And that’s a good thing. It has to be a good thing.
Any forward momentum with him will drag me further away from where I shouldn’t dwell.
I lean over, placing my bottle on the coffee table and settle back into the sofa. When his arm maneuvers from his side to wrap around my shoulders, I fight the need to move away and instead snuggle closer.
I rest my head into him. I breathe in the aftershave that’s remarkably different from—
No. I’m not thinking about the devil anymore. Or the way he smelled. Or tasted. I have to cast every disillusioned thought from my brain.
I pull back slightly and turn to my friend, my heart hammering as our gazes collide. It’s an all-or-nothing moment. Sink or swim. Fight or flight.
My insides squeeze. My pulse stutters.
I lick my lips and his attention narrows on my mouth.
I’m torn in a million different directions, the static of confusion blaring in my ears.
I shut it all down—the thoughts, the sensations, the warnings—and lean in, placing my lips on his.
3
Anissa
He sits frozen for a split second, the connection stale and lifeless. I’m about to pull away in rabid humiliation when his mouth slowly moves beneath mine, the kiss tender. He wraps his arm tighter around me but still excessively gentle, as if I’ll break.
It’s all so slow and calm and…weak.
There’s no passion. No possession.
Christ. What am I thinking?
This is a first kiss. It’s not meant to be a porn audition. I’d just hoped for more.
I need what I previously had.
Ferocity.
Obsession.
I keep our mouths fused as I straddle his waist and cup his cheeks. I’ve never had a brother, but I’m starting to think this is what it might feel like to make out with one. The more I try to add kindling to the stack, the more my emotions assemble road blocks to all my nerve endings.
There’s no fire. No flame. Not even a spark.
I try harder, sliding my tongue between his lips.
Everything is gentle. Soft. Deflated.
Until a knock at the door has his hands snapping to my hips as if in protection.
It’s a brief moment of aggressive force, the hold inspiring my heartbeat to rampen.
I pull back, curious, yet thankful for the interruption. Then confusion takes hold.
I don’t have any friends. Not apart from the man I’m straddling. And even if I did, I would’ve trained them well enough to know I’m not the type to want visitors after ten o’clock at night.
“That was…” Easton clears his throat. “Unexpected.”
Had I imagined his attraction? Please, for the love of all things holy, don’t make his flirtation another part of my vastly increasing mental delusions. “Unexpected?”
The knock sounds again, this time a booming thud.
Not only do I not have any friends who would attempt to beat down my door, I don’t have any neighbors who aren’t equally as reclusive as I am. And my landlord wouldn’t dare to bother me at this hour.
Easton’s face turns grim, his eyes narrowing. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s here.”
“No.” I should pretend I don’t know who he’s talking about. That my whole life doesn’t currently revolve around one him. “He wouldn’t be able to get into my building.”
He scoffs. “Do you really think—”
The knock sounds again, louder and louder.
“Open the door, Nis, I know you’re in there.”
Oh, fuckety fuck.
I scramble off Easton’s lap. He glides to his feet, far more elegantly than my baby-giraffe fumble.
“Why is he here?” He stretches out a hand to help stabilize me, but I move out of reach, unable to stomach more contact.
“I don’t know.” I keep my voice low. At least, I try. It’s hard to know what’s loud with the pulse booming in my ears.
The tingles I’d been hoping for with that kiss flood me. Everywhere. No place more potent than my chest.
My heart.
“I’ll handle it.” Easton sidesteps me, starting for the door.
“No.” I snatch at his wrist, yanking him to a stop. “Hold on a goddamn minute. I’m not a damsel in distress. This is my apartment and my guest… or intruder… or whatever the hell you want to call him.” I straighten my shoulders, those tingles turning into tremors at the thought of coming face-to-face with my mysterious syndrome creator. “I can handle Cole.” I point a finger at his chest. “You be quiet.”
His chin hikes in offense.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just…” I sigh. I hate this new normal. The confusion and lack of confidence. I want to go back to feeling alive again. And not just in the moments that involve Cole.
The thunderous knock at the door gets louder, probably waking my neighbors.
“I’m coming.” Fucking hell, that man is an impatient ass. “Stop banging.”