I fucking hate this shit.
Then a voice comes through, and with it, a bright burst of color. I rock back and forth on the floor but I focus my hearing on the voice. I focus past the buzzing sound to the sexy, full-bodied sound that is coming this way. I haven’t heard that song she’s singing since I was a kid. It was one of my mom’s favorites.
Her rich cadence lingers in the air as she sings the tribute to Elvis with every bit of soul as Alannah Myles once did. She doesn’t have quite the rasp,but there’s still a hint there.
Her voice is silk and smoke and like nothing I’ve ever heard.
Whiskey eyes and lullabies.
When she enters the kitchen, her eyes go wide at the sight of me on the floor, and her cheeks stain red. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”
Now that’s not true. I haven’t left this place since Bastian brought me back from the basement. For fifteen days, I’ve seen nothing but walls and more walls.
Though, I suppose she doesn’t mean in the loft. She probably means in the kitchen.
“Don’t stop singing,” It comes out a bit harsh. A demand instead of a request, but it drowns out the sounds in my head.
She shakes her head, her blond curly hair flying around her face. Those sexy eyes refuse to meet mine. “I—uh—I don’t sing in front of people.”
“Then pretend I’m not here. I want to hear more.”
She opens the refrigerator, grabs what it was she came for, then turns away from me. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
By some miracle, I’m back on shaking legs. The bile that had risen in my throat has receded though my stomach still flips. “Wait.” I barely recognize the sound of my voice. It sounds garbled and distorted to me. I pant like I’ve just run five miles. Which I have, but it’s been long enough that it wouldn’t affect me any longer.
No. This is the result of giving in to the panic. Panic I’m afraid will return with vengeance if I can’t get her to sing again. Panic that hasn’t fully receded.
“Sing. Please,” I practically beg, feeling more than a little pathetic. Also,aware that I’m probably freaking her out.
I know I am when I look into those amber eyes that are laser-focused on my hand that is gripping her arm.
“I need it.”
“Maddox, let her go,” Bastian bellows from the elevator gate. His eyes flame with anger at what he assumes I’m asking from her. “She can’t get you shit.”
“He was just ask—”
“What do you expect, Bastian?” I cut her off. He wants to make assumptions;I don’t want him corrected.
“I expect you to have more respect for my guest.” His weird multicolored eyes shoot daggers at me. Or maybe,in his case, they’re actually bullets.
“Go to hell, Bastian. You wanted me here. Now deal with all that involves.”
He crosses the room in a few long strides until we’re face to face. “You want to send me there?”
“Sounds tempting.” I give him a derisive smirk as I continue to antagonize.
It gets under Bastian’s skin when people don’t automatically concede to his demands. He is the boss of his world. Well, co-boss anyway. When he says something, he expects it to be done. If it doesn’t, then he has no problem doling out punishment.
I’m not relenting to his demands or playing nice. He inserted himself in this crusade, but he had no idea that I don’t follow orders. I did that once a very long time ago and swore I would never do it again.
“Give it your best shot,stronzo,” he sneers, his Italian accent overpowering his Cajun one. (Yes, hearing that crazy accent is a mind fuck.)
My fists clench at my side. We’ve brawled more than a few times in the last couple of weeks, especially when the physical agony of withdrawals was at its worst, but I’m itching to go again. I want to provoke and incite him until he gives up this fucking crusade he’s on.
The tension in the air is thick. The irritation and anger waving around the roomarea heady mixture that is doing a decent job of giving me that temporary high. Now the pounding of my heart is the adrenaline rushing through my veins, begging me to swing. Ready to feel the ache of flesh on flesh against my knuckles. Ready to take a few blows myself in hopes the physical pain will help refocus my addled mind.
I take a step back, ready to launch the first blow when a halo of gold comes into view. “Don’t!” she yells, putting herself in the space between Bastian and me. Her hands up, facing me, hoping to prevent the bloodshed from happening.
