Now I’m convinced the guy has lost his mind. “What? Were you drinking?” Even my usual taunts don’t lighten the heavy mood which has taken over the room.
“An angel with golden hair and flawless skin,” he whispers. Then, without warning, he spins around to pin me with a pained glare. “Lucille was in my house the night of the murder, or kidnapping.” My stomach drops to the ground. My lungs give out, breath knocked from them completely. I open my mouth to respond, to ask questions, but none come out.
I can tell he’s waiting for me to say something. Hawk is a man of not many words, and even now, when he drops this bombshell, he’s quietly going through whatever the fuck he’s going through. “She was the babysitter?” I know she was sitting for Crow’s folks when her father struck, but I didn’t realize she worked for Hawk’s parents too.
“No.” The word is a resounding omen which has every hair on the back of my neck standing to attention. This makes no sense, if she didn’t work for them, what was she doing there. “I need to think,” Hawk announces quickly before rushing from the living room. I watch him go, still trying to process.
I need to find out more.
I’m going to have to break our code and look into Hawk’s case. I don’t want to, but if Crow finds out, he’ll kill her without trying to find out the truth.
Something tells me our little Goldilocks must be guilty too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CROW
Hate fuels me daily. She’s going to pay for everything she’s done—including making me want to taste her smooth, silky flesh. Watching her clean my floor hasn’t stopped my hard on from throbbing. I’m behind my desk, attempting to focus on work, but I can’t stop my gaze from straying toward her.
When she finally rises to her feet, I stop what I’m doing and lean back in my chair. She’s filled with rage. I like it on her, it makes her more beautiful. Something about a woman who is willing to fight back makes my dick hard.
“I’m done,” she announces before picking up the bucket of water she used to clean up the mess she made. The image of her taking my fingers is still fresh in my mind, and looking at her lips now, I want so much to see my cock sliding between them. “Anything else?”
Her question has my gaze lifting to her eyes. “Your clothes are a mess,” I inform her. “Take them off.” I’ve always enjoyed control; I’ve honed the skill and I consider myself an expert.
Her mouth pops open. “What?”
“You heard me,” I say before waving my hand toward her. “Take them off.” It’s a simple order, one she can’t refuse. Well, she can, but then she’ll learn the consequences. I don’t like repeating myself, but more so, I don’t like having to wait. When I ask for something, I expect it done and without question.
“I can’t just—”
“I’ve seen naked women before, little mouse,” I tell her with a smirk. “I doubt you have anything special I want to see.” I push to my feet, and I’m so tempted to slice the damn material from her body. Or rip it with my bare fucking hands. And I will. I want her to gasp, to fear me. I want her to feel exactly what I did when she let her monster of a father take my brothers.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I told you why.” I keep my voice controlled, steeled with anger. It’s the only way to get through life. No other emotion exists. Because the moment you allow feelings like love and affection in, or even empathy, you get hurt. So, instead of going through any heartbreak again, I have focused solely on the anger, the rage; it warms my blood and keeps me alive.
The thing in my chest pumping oxygen to my body, the cold, unused organ comes alive.
Lucille looks up at me as I near her. She’s a tiny thing, her head reaching my chest. When I stop inches from her, I don’t miss the wince creasing her face or the flash of fear which dances in her eyes. Beautiful golden orbs filled with anxious flames.
“I don’t… I think—”
“You’re not here to think,” I say before I grip the front of her sleep shirt and tug, causing her to stumble toward me. Her body flush with mine, shakes like a leaf. A soft gasp tumbles from her pink lips, and my cock jolts against my zipper. “You feel that?”
I roll my hips, grinding my dick right up against her soft belly. Need races through my veins as her warmth wafts over me. I wonder briefly if she’s wet, if her cunt is smooth, or trimmed. I want to find out.
“That’s because I can’t stop thinking about making you cry. I can’t get the image of you choking on my fingers out of my mind, and each time I see it in my mind’s eye, my cock weeps for more.”