With her lips still swollen from my assault, the indignant smartass I’ve known all my life vanishes, replaced by the woman I saw yesterday. The one who hung her head when I called her Shallow. The one who finally knew what it was like to smellfear.
The power I have to bring out this kind of panic in her does things to me. Things I have no businessfeeling.
So muchpower.
I run the pad of my thumb over the delicate skin of her throat, and shift my lips away from her ear, trailing them down her jaw line. I know I’m being watched. Not only by her, but by the family I call myown.
Darting out my tongue, I lick my lip ring before placing a light kiss right beside my thumb. “I said, are we clear, or do I need to make a scene in front of ouraudience?”
Although I can’t see her, I feel her body shift, and I know she’s taking stock of her surroundings. When she stiffens, I know that’s the minute she’s locked eyes with ten salivating, horny teenage boys, and I’vewon.
“Yes,” she says, her voiceraspy.
“Yes,what?”
“Yes, we’re clear,Mr.Kincaid.”
I can’t help but smile. I know Shiloh better than she knows herself. She’s not pissed because she lost. She’s pissed because she’s turned on, and the only thing she hates more than losing the upper hand, is losing control of heremotions.
Checkmate,baby.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Just to drive my point home, and because the damn outfit she has on is driving me crazy, I slide my hand down to her ass and give it a firm slap. “Now clean this shitup.”
I refuse to give her a second glance as I fling open the door and slam it behind me. I don’t even flinch at the bloodcurdling scream that’s muffled by the heavy door or the subsequent slam of what I assume to be the mop bucket as it crashes againstit.
Am I jackass for putting on a show like that? Yeah, probably. My mother would be mortified and fall down on her knees in church praying for my soul if she ever saw me treat another human being the way I just treatedShiloh.
Then again, my mother never had to endure a living hell courtesy of that woman. Once upon a time, I was a good person with a promising future and a worthy soul headed for white wings and a cushy afterlife. One night, two years behind bars, and seven years of hatred kind of clips thosewings.
I’d sold my soul a long time ago. First to Shiloh. Then toTaryn.
No one changes once theydarken.
They both taught methat.
Nine
Shiloh
Since the stateof California took away my driver’s license, and my mother’s driver has carted her off to some ladies’ luncheon, I’m stuck eating a granola bar from a vending machine I’m pretty sure has been there since the dawn oftime.
Frankie has taken the bus into town to meet with Will. It seems that Cary usually mans the center for him during his monthly check-ins. However, since our boss decided to manhandle me then haul his ass out of here, there’s only one person who’s old enough to legally take charge of the building and everyone inside ofit.
Luckyme.
I last all of ten minutes alone with multiple sets of eyes watching every move I make before I grab my granola bar and Diet Coke and sashay my ass out on the stone bench in front of the building. I have no idea if I’m breaking about twenty different laws by doing it, but I don’t care. It’s Cary’s fault for leaving an ex-convict barely out of adolescence, and a current convict with absolutely no clue what the hell she’s doing, alone to run theplace.
It serves him right if the whole damn building goes up in a ball offlames.
Asshole.
My hand trails along my lips where he kissed me and then drops to the base of my collarbone. Cary’s touch didn’t scare me. There was more in his eyes than anger or desire. I can’t describe it, and trying to rationalize my own reaction to it confusesme.
Resolving to put Cary Kincaid and his lips out of my mind, I force myself to people watch. As usual, by one thirty in the afternoon, sitting outside in Myrtle Beach humidity is like reclining in a wet sauna fully clothed. Sighing, I toss the half-eaten granola bar onto the bench and squint against the blindingly bright sun while lifting the Coke can to mylips.
“Anorexia for lunch? Good to see some things never change,Shiloh.”
Even though the sun keeps me from seeing her face, I know her condescending voice in an instant. I can’t mistake it, because it mirrors mine. When you grow up as a sheep herder, you tend to recognize your own mannerisms. It’s sad that she’s held on to them instead of mimicking my more sophisticated arrogance I’veacquired.
