Viola
The darkness within has all kinds of ideas on how to punish Dante for what he’s doing. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never once laid a hand on me. He’s berated me, pushed buttons, and ignored some of my less desirable traits. He’s never hurt me. Not that you could call this hurting.
It’s more like foreplay.
He shifts position, holsters his gun, and with his free hand gropes around inside my jean pocket. I wriggle my hips to make it harder for him, hissing while he manhandles me. He finally pulls out the gold chain with the pendant Quinn gave me and wraps it around his fist.
“Quinn should know better,” he says.
I go for the one place I know is hurting him. On his side, where I gave him a love tap with an arrow not so long ago, is a clean dressing. I dig my fingers underneath it, jamming them through the stitches and into the bloody hole in his side. He grunts in pain.
“So should you,” I say sweetly.
He smiles coldly. “There’s my girl. I thought you were going to pass out for a second.”
“And let you have full access to my body? Go to fucking hell.” I say, rasping in a lungful of air. Not the wittiest of reactions but it gets me what I need. I dig harder and he eases off. Just enough to let in the barest breath of air into my tender throat.
He inclines his head. “Are we both not already there?”
“Angels always go to heaven,” I say, pasting a thick smile onto my lips.
“You’re no angel,” he laughs.
The tang of fresh blood fills the space between us. He’s closer than he’s ever been to me, and where his skin touches mine, it burns. Where his eyes drag over my smaller form as he pins me to the wall like I’m nothing but a mere rag doll, it induces a gut-wrenching excitement.
He smells like chemicals. Like ash and gunpowder.
Like fucking death.
“But you’ve always been delusional,” he replies, voice low and teasing.
“Delusion makes the best type of assassin, you taught me that.” I snap back, reminding a stone-cold killer that we had a connection once when he was training me.
I bring my fingers, stained in his blood, and touch them to the front of my lips.
See, Dante. I’m just as insane as you are.
“No, that’s lack of remorse,” he says, never once taking his eyes off me.
His grip softens.
Gotcha.
“Let her go, or I’ll show you lack of remorse, you bastard.” says a gruff voice.
We both glance up, over to where a new addition to our intimate party is standing. It’s only fucking Jude. How did he find me again? Does he have a death wish?
“Jude, what the hell are you doing here?” I say through gritted teeth.
He steps the rest of the way through the door gap covered by the loose board, his gun aimed at Dante. My old mentor regards Jude like a cat would a lost mouse. Great. Now I have to worry about Jude rather than finding out what Dante wants. Why can’t that boy just leave me the fuck alone?
“Are you sure you want to point that gun at me?” Dante says in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Just let her go.”
I close my eyes, rolling them before I open them. Jude thinks he’s in some kind of movie. That he can’t get hurt. That he’s the hero come to rescue the girl. For fuck’s sake. Have I taught these boys nothing?
“Jude. Just go. I’ve got this.”