Page 32 of Wraith
Chapter Thirty
“So,tell me, tiger. Where is it you call home?” I ask, trying to make small talk. It is mid-day now and the storm outside is not showing any signs of letting up. Maybe whoever is out there will be buried under ten feet of snow and nature will have done her part by helping my ass out this time around.Maybe.
“I don’t have a home. What about you? Besides this cabin, where is it you call home?” Now that is a loaded question. Where is my home? Definitely not the place I was raised as a slave then later used as a torturedevice.
“Guess we have that one in common. How about yourname?”
“Don’t have one of those either,” she says, depressing me further. This girl is abuzzkill.
“You know I have had better conversations with the mouse that likes to sneak around and steal crumbs off thecountertop.”
“So talk to him,” she snaps crossing her arms over her chest, effectively pushing her tits further up. She needs to wear a baggiershirt.
“Well I would but, you see, I sort of killed him last time he showed his face. Little bastard took off with my last cookie, and I love my sweets,” I tell her with a smirk but still get nothing. “Seriously, sweetheart, you could at least give a little chuckle. You’re like talking to anicicle.”
“Thirty-two,” she says on a sigh after a bout of silence. From her spot by the hot stove she walks to the kitchen area, absently staring outside the small crack that isn’t covering thewindow.
“Thirty-two?” the hell is thirty-two supposed to be? How many people she has killed, because I have her beat and thensome.
“As far as I know, I’m thirty-two years old.” Well shit. As far as she knows? I leave that part of her sentence alone and just accept the information, giving her mine inreturn.
“Well then,as far as I know,I’m forty. Dark or milkchocolate?”
“What?” She turns my way, caught off by myquestion.
“Milk or dark? It’s a simplequestion.”
“Dark. Knife or gun?” She raises a brow as if challenging me toanswer.
“Depends on the situation. I prefer knife, but when it needs to be quick and less messy, I go for the bullet to the back of the head.” She nods in agreement, stepping closer to where I’m perched on thebed.
“How would you killme?”
“Bullet,” I answer with no hesitation. If it bothers her she doesn’t let on. Her expression doesn’t change as she steps even closer to me. “What would you prefer?” There is a moment where she stops coming toward me and narrows her eyes, as if she is trying to decide how much of my blood she wants to see pooling on this very floor. The silence is filled with the whistling whirl of the wind outside and her breathing. Or maybe it’s mine. Then she opens that mouth ofhers.
“I would prefer to paint the white forest with your blood. Every inch of it, but that still wouldn’t be good enough.” Her voice is thick, laced with such contempt, I find my cock thickening at her words. She has such a firing grudge against me and I want nothing more than to draw her reasoning out. With quick precision, I launch off the bed and snatch her arms, getting a swift kick to my legs that I anticipate and deflect. Catching her off guard I slam her down onto the floor, much like she did me before, sending the air from her lungs and connecting the back of her head to the wood with athump.
“Enough with the games,” I bark in her face snatching her small hands into my large palm, pinning them to the floor above her head while my knees take up residence between her legs and my calves drape over her legs to hold them, leaving her powerless to escape. She struggles for only a moment before she stops and snaps her face to mine and spits.Fucking spits. “God damn it,” I growl, bringing my face to hers to wipe the residue along her jaw and neck, giving it back to her. “You’re afighter.”
“Go ahead. Do it. It wouldn’t be anything you haven’t done before!” she yells lifting her head off the floor as far as she can before slamming it backdown.
“Do it? You think I’m going to, what? Rape you?” I let out a dry laugh, “Please. I may be a horrible piece of shit but I don’t do rape.” Her eyes grow wide at my declaration but she doesn’t respond. Instead she slams her head onto the floor once again. “Quit that shit,” I scold but she does it again. She isn’t doing it soft either. I know it has to be getting to her. “Tell me what the fuck you mean?” I yell down at her but she shakes her head, silent tears spilling from the edges of her eyes. “Tell me! Who am I toyou?”
“You hurt me!” she calls out in a breathless screech, choking on the lastword.
“Hurt you how? Did I kill someone you loved? Torture your cat? God damn it, level with me!” My words burn coming from deep in my chest, scorching my throat on the wayout.
“Steven,” she says on a whimper, her head dropping to the floor, this time not slamming as hard and not coming back up for more. The name makes me release my grip on her hands and remove myself from above her. I haven’t been called by that name in so long, but with it falling from her pink lips it ignites a burning deep in my chest. If she knows my givenname—
“Who are you?” My voice soft now, horse from the yelling. She doesn’t answer, only pulls herself away from me and huddles next to the bed like a small child. Her dark hair cascades over her face covering her from me, but when she peeks up through the curtain her dark locks create, I catch the flash molten chocolate pools and I’m brought back intime.
