Page 78 of Cruel Pleasures
Rook finally throws himself between us. “Had enough? Keep going and somebody will end up being buried tonight!”
Hurst spits out a mouthful of blood. “You say that like it’s a problem.”
“It is for me,” Rook retorts. “I’ve dug enough graves since the games started.”
I leap to my feet. Hurst does the same, immediately in a fight stance, ready to continue our violent confrontation. Rook hovering between us means nothing.
At any moment we might kill each other if we really wanted to. Taking life has never been off the table for either of us.
Blood has dripped from his mouth onto his crisp white shirt. Meanwhile, my hand’s bloodied, bearing down on my wounded shoulder.
Tense silence stretches on for a moment as we exchange heated glares.
“You’ve been warned,” Hurst snarls before he turns and walks out.
Rook shakes his head. “All this over the girl? The actress?”
“Don’t bother with any lectures, Rook. They fall on deaf ears.”
“I’m just saying,” he says, shrugging, “maybe learn to share?”
He’s left standing on his own after I leave the gym without another word.
I’m unbothered by the turn of events—Hurst has never intimidated me and never will.
He strides around the manor with a cockiness worthy of a spoiled brat. Which is what he is and always has been. A petulant, privileged, rich, manchild who’s turned killing into a sport. He has no honor or moral code when he acts out. He does so for attention. Out of some wounded sense of childhood trauma where he inflicts harm on others.
What could Imani possibly see in a man like this?
Even the mask he’s put on around her isn’t convincing. It’s still that of a wealthy, unserious playboy. Is that the kind of man she’s interested in?
I’m agitated all over again stalking the manor halls. I’ve changed into my usual all-black uniform, my long coat rippling like a cape behind me.
“It’s you!”
Her voice makes me freeze. Inside and outside. On the outside, I’ve stopped mid-stride where I’m crossing through the second floor landing, surrounded by gold-framed portraits of Hurst family members through the ages. On the inside, it’s an uncoiling of complicated feelings that leaves me acutely aware of the clench in my chest.
I stay put, listening to the pad of her sandaled feet tapping closer. She comes up from behind ’til she’s stepping in front of me, looking what most men would call beautiful in a loose, flowing dress. The jersey fabric hugs her ample curves in such a way it’s… unreasonably distracting.
Even for a man like myself, who has sworn off such baser urges.
My gaze pulls up to her face, ignoring how large and pert her breasts are. How round her hips appear.
“What?” I grit out in irritation. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“I was on my way to my room and saw you and I…” she drifts off, frowning.
It occurs to me as I’m glaring that something is different. Something is off about her today. There’s a distinct sad air about her, like she’s spent the day sullen and moping. The clench in my chest deepens, leaving me uncertain if it’s more agitation or… something else.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You never show up to any of the club events. Where were you last night?”
She peers up at me with a curiosity imbued in her dark brown eyes that’s almost pure. Her question solidifies that she’s aware of what transpired. She senses it was me behind the mask in that room.
Frown deepening, she says, “You’re bleeding.”
I glance down at my shoulder and discover my wound is partially in view. And so is the blood seeping out. I pull at the collar of my coat and snap, “None of your business.”
