The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

“What do I owe you?” I took out my wallet, plucking out a wad of cash.

“Nine grand, plus supplies, so let’s round it to eleven. Cash only.” She plucked a paper towel off the stand, wiping her hands then slam-dunking the wad of paper into a trash can.

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t arrive, I narrowed my eyes.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Heavens, Brennan. I’m a highborn woman. I lack anything resembling a good sense of humor. Goes against everything I’ve been taught in Catholic school,” Ash said gravely. “Do you think it would be less pricey if you took them to the hospital?”

“I think if I took them to the hospital, they wouldn’t have been treated in some frat boy’s fucking basement.”

She poked her lip with a finger as she considered my words, unaffected. The only thing reminding me I was the one in control of the situation was her bottomless eyes. They held a promise to always want what I had to offer.

“They’re alive and well. Same result as you’d get at the hospital. I’m sorry, I assumed you’d have this kind of money handy. Would you like me to let you know about our payment options, Mr. Brennan?”

The little shi—

I stepped forward, eating up all of the distance between us in one go, baring my teeth as I boxed her in with my arms on either side of her shoulders, against the wall.

“What are you playing at, Nix?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes widened innocently. Blue, so terribly blue, and every shade of the color under the sun: ocean, sky, crayon, you name it. “You asked for my services. I assumed you were prepared to pay for them.”

“You don’t need the money.” I was chest-to-chest with her now, and here it was again, that faint ginger smell mixed with flowers and honey that gave me déjà vu of things and places I’d never experienced.

I’ll do things to you you will never forget.

“Neither do you. So pay up. I’ll be seeing you at Thanksgiving dinner. You can pay me then.” Ash smoothed her dress, which was now stained in Becker’s blood.

Right.

The world still turned on its axis, and our families continued to play nice with one another, oblivious to my vendetta. Other than Troy, who knew better than to ever let it slip.

The Fitzpatricks were hosting a Thanksgiving dinner next week. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but for all the wrong reasons, and none of them had anything to do with their cook’s stuffed turkey.

“Now if you excuse me …” Nix ducked under my shoulder, trying to slip away. I pushed forward, pinning her in place against the wall. If it wasn’t for the slight quivering of her chin, I could have sworn she was cool as a cucumber. But that small shake betrayed her, and I seized the opportunity to tilt said chin upward, forcing her to look at me.

“How about a kiss?” I coaxed, my palm sliding from her wrist to her waist, down the curve of her firm ass, squeezing as I pulled her closer to me. I didn’t like the power shift between us and wanted to remind her who was the boss. I felt her thighs shaking against my sprawled fingers, ready and wanting, shivered into me as I gathered her close. Her body was soft, smooth, feminine. With hidden curves I had no business thinking about and was paid to ignore.

Her heat radiated between our clothes, and I stifled a groan, yanking her braid, extending her neck and forcing her to look at me.

“Would a kiss be a sufficient form of payment?” I murmured, my lips gliding down the side of her neck.

She said nothing, her heart slamming against mine erratically, begging for more.

Rearing my head back, I crashed my mouth against hers punishingly, resenting her for my need to taste her—and myself for yielding to temptation.

It was a brutal kiss, with teeth and claws and tongue, designed to humiliate her, to remind her which one of us was in control.

Aisling’s lips molded over mine immediately, compliant and soft. She moaned gently, her tongue meeting mine thrust for thrust, like we were fucking each other, her fingers curling around the collar of my shirt, drawing me closer. I bit her lower lip until I split it open, her warm, metallic blood trickling into my mouth. She tensed but didn’t break the kiss.

Break the fucking kiss, Aisling.

Show me I’m too much for you.

I sucked on her blood, pulling her entire lip into my mouth, and she let me, the little monster that she was.

“You taste like an ashtray,” she purred into my mouth. Viper-like, her words dripped venom while she still devoured me hungrily, not letting go.

“Maybe so, but you taste like an easy lay, my least favorite flavor of woman.” I chuckled darkly, putting more pressure on her lips, kissing her harder, tasting her blood and her tears and her anguish and enjoying all of them because they were mine.