Page 19 of Covert Desires

Her taste in men was atrocious, though. She probably could’ve had a good life if Uncle William wasn’t around.

Uncle William had a scruffy mustache and always smelled like rum. He liked torearrangethings with his fist—mostly Aunt Martha’s face, sometimes mine. I was too weak to do anything, to fight back.

Once, when I was 16, he spat on the black eye he himself had given me, laughing maniacally as he told me how I’d never amount to anything more than a cum dumpster for lowlife men.

Fucking asshole.

I joined the Marines as soon as I legally could. And when I went back home, Uncle William wasn’t the one laughing, I was. His head made a hollow crack as I smashed his skull against the doorway—I’ll never forget that sound. I felt nothing but relief as I watched him bleed out on that stained gray carpet in the lounge.

My only regret was that Aunt Martha was no longer alive to see him pay his dues. It was never proven, but I know he was the one who pushed her down the stairs that day. She didn’t deserve any of it.

So much for family.

I never bothered tracking my biological parents—if I was dead to them, they were dead to me.

My past was as bleak as my present.

With a sigh, I stare out the window, willing the storm to slow down so I can think, but the weather is as insubordinate as my unexpected guest.

It’s dark and chaotic out there. Rain still hammers on the roof relentlessly as the wind tugs at my shutters like the big bad wolf is trying to blow my house down.

I’m overly aware of the extra body in my space, but I try my best to ignore him as I force myself through my normal routine.

After putting the kettle on the stove, I add an extra spoon of coffee to the plunger, hoping for a miracle from the additional caffeine.

Nico doesn’t make any sound as I sip my black coffee at the kitchen counter, nor when I lock myself in the bathroom to scrub myself under the scalding water that has finally heated again.

No matter how hot I make the water, it’s not hot enough.

I can still feel that creep’s warm sticky cum dripping on my face despite having washed it off hours ago already.

The mere thought of that scene makes my stomach churn with disgust…and something else—a tingle of need that shouldn’t be there.

Why can’t I stop thinking about those dick piercings?

For fuck’s sake, Kiah.

I force the thought from my mind.

Fresh out of the shower, I throw on some denim shorts and a black tank top, gathering my wet hair in a messy bun on top of my head without bothering with a bra.

As an added bonus, I discover Nico’s knife stashed in the washing basket, and I take it with me.Just in case.

With a deep breath, I brace myself as I head to the bed I’ve been avoiding.

As much as I want to ignore Nico all day, I know I need to get that shard out of his shoulder. He may be a creep, but I don’t want him to die.

I don’t exactly have a clean-up team anymore; I’d have to dispose of the body myself.

The closer I get, the more apparent it becomes that something is wrong.

Oh, shit.

Nico’s skin has turned pale and clammy, his brow slick with sweat. His eyes are half-closed and glazed over.

The sight of the wound is even more alarming.

The area around the porcelain shard is angry and inflamed, a red, swollen mess that looks painfully tight.

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