I give her a moment to get over her outburst. It’s her typical standoffish reaction to feeling scared or out of control. I get it, even if it pisses me off.
I’m the same, except I prefer holding my cards close to my chest. Something my father always drilled into me—no one needs to know what’s going on in your head. It’s a vulnerability you can’t afford.
It’s one of the few things he was right about. Being detached has its perks—it’s why Fleur is so dangerous. I can’t remain detached with her when her mere presence grounds me. She makes me aware of the danger. I feel it with her. I fear it now that I’ve seen what’s at stake.
Stopping the car on the side of the road, I cut the engine, the sheet of rain around us blocking out the world outside.
“You’re scared.”
Fleur looks at me, affronted at first, and then a tear begrudgingly falls down one side of her face. “I don’t want to die.”
“Fleur…”
“I don’t want to leave her,” she murmurs, hugging her belly. “My mum left me and…”
“Grace didn’t leave you.”
Her expression morphs from sad to confused at my mention of her mother’s name. Or maybe she’s shocked I’m bringing her up at all because it’s not something we’ve ever talked about outside of her rage at her father.
“She died.”
Actually, she was murdered.
Of course, I don’t tell her that. I don’t know all the facts yet, only what Ryan has passed down from conversations he’s heard around the guys.
“You kill people,” she states, turning in her seat so that her legs tuck under her and she’s facing me. “What does it feel like?”
“What?” My insides knot tight at her question. She doesn’t want to know what it feels like. Not to me anyway.
“What do you feel when you take someone’s life?” Reaching across the centre console, she grabs my hand. Her eyes run over the tattoos as always, her fingertips tracing the lines, smoothing over the shading.
The bag she was holding on to with her other hand drops to the floor with a muted thud in the wake of her shuffle over the console. She’s nervous which only serves as a warning to me about what’s about to come. Her breaths are heavier, and her eyes are watery and wide, focused on me as though I’m her hit and she’s the sniper.
“Do you feel it when they take their last breath?” Bringing my hand to her chest, she flattens it to her, dragging it up to her collarbone and then up the soft column of her throat. Her thumb presses mine over her jugular, and like her breathing, her blood is pulsing through her erratically. “Do you feel it happen? Their life evaporating from them?”
“It doesn’t evaporate,” I tell her, stroking the vein throbbing beneath my thumb. My fingertips press deeper to the other side of her throat. “Not if you do a proper job. It simply ceases to exist.”
“Here one minute and gone the next…” Her murmur is breathy and punctuated with her fluttery blinks.
“Second.”
Fleur swallows, the feel of her muscles working with her action enthralling. It draws my eyes to her delicate neck, and water fills my mouth with the urge to lick and suck. To bite until she’s visibly tainted by me.
“I want you to teach me.” Her gaze flicks down to where my gun is holstered at my side.
“I’ve already taught you.”
“No, you taught me to shoot. I want to learn to kill.”
“It’s not like that. I can’t teach you.”
A glare finds me, her nostrils flaring with irritation. A hand slides over my arm to my shoulder, splaying on my chest while the other cups my face roughly.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“It’s not an ability. It’s an urge…a need that’s inside you or it isn’t. It’s a thirst you can never quench, and the more you feed it, the more it needs.”
“Then I want it inside me.” She enunciates every word like she knows what she’s asking for. Like she’s asking me to fill her with my cock. Or as if I can take part of my wickedness and hand it to her…embed it in her.