Page 32 of Wicked Games

Roughly, he pulls his leg back, but instead of giving me a chance to answer, he grabs my shirt and hauls me right off the couch. I can’t get my feet under me as he drags me across the room, and all I can do is stumble along until he slams me against the wall.

“How?” he demands again.

“I saw them,” I wheeze, my chest tight from the impact.

“How?”

“I followed her down there.” I can’t stop the little smirk-smile I feel tilting the corner of my mouth.

He blinks at me in confusion.

“I overheard her complaining to one of her clones about how gross the stacks are and how she can’t believe he likes hooking up in there. I knew she wasn’t talking about you, and I was curious, so I followed her. It wasn’t hard to figure out this is a weekly thing.”

“How long has it been going on?”

I shrug as best as I can while still being pinned to the wall. “No clue. But I saw her go down there three weeks in a row.” I give Killian an innocent look. “And I’m guessing she’s keeping the streak alive?”

He glowers at me, his eyes flashing with so many emotions it’s hard to pinpoint them all, but the most prominent is anger.

I can’t stop my grin. I can’t explain why, but Killian’s anger makes me feel alive. Like I can finally unlock the cage I’ve put around my own emotions and just let them run wild and free like he does.

“Why the fuck are you smiling?” He bumps his chest against mine and my back cracks from how hard I’m pushed into the wall.

“Because I know her type,” I say, still grinning like the Joker at him. “And it must really sting that she’s tossingyouaside for him. I mean, I’m insulted for you.”

Killian pushes me a little harder against the wall, another one of those primal growls escaping from deep in his chest. “Shut. Up.”

“Why?” I ask, pretending like I don’t see that he’s a few seconds away from rearranging my face. “I was just going to say that I’ve seen how he fucks, so unless you’re even worse than that, she’s not upgrading with him in any departme?—”

My speech is cut off as Killian slams his forearm against my upper chest, then slides it up until it’s across my throat.

He’s not pushing hard enough to hurt, but it’s enough that I can’t pull in a full breath.

“I could end you right now if I wanted to,” he says conversationally. “All it would take is for my arm to slip a little.” He pushes harder against my throat, effectively cutting off my air. “They say the average person can hold their breath for between one and three minutes.” His grin is as menacing as it is deranged.

“But I imagine you can do better than three minutes,” he continues, like he’s not in the process of strangling me. “What do you think, Fefe? Can you hit four, maybe even five minutes?” He stares into my eyes, and the look in his sends the strangest mix of sensations through me.

The edges of my vision go a bit shimmery, and the world takes on a strange tone, almost like I’m seeing through a filter. Colors are brighter, shapes are sharper, but everything is moving out of sync. Like my vision is a half second off from reality, so things just don’t match up.

“You know what most people get wrong when they try to suffocate someone?” he asks. His tone is still conversational, but his expression is as intense as I’ve ever seen it. “They let go toosoon. They forget that passing out is the body’s way of protecting itself and going into automatic mode. If you let go as soon as they pass out, then they’ll just start breathing, and you’ll have to do it all over again.”

He leans closer, stopping when his nose brushes against mine. “Have you ever seen someone suffocate before?” he asks, his hot breath ghosting over my face. “I have.” His grin is dark and sinister. “It’s a mind fuck to watch. To see the fear slowly take over until that moment when they realize it really is the end and there’s nothing they can do. That moment is…everything.”

My chest is on fire. I grip his arm, but I don’t try to pull him off me. I can’t be sure if that’s because I know he’s way too strong, or if it’s because I don’t want to fight.

“Do you have any idea how fucking incredible that feels?” he asks in a low voice. “To have that kind of power over someone? To be in complete control if they live or die? It’s a fucking rush.”

My lungs are screaming at me to breathe, but I don’t struggle or try to fight him.

“I’ve never gotten to do it like this,” he says, lowering his voice even more and leaning in so his lips are next to my ear. “Never used my hands or been this close to the action.”

Another of those weird shivers moves through me as his breath tickles my skin.

“It’s so much better than watching from across the room,” he whispers. “So much more intense.”

His lip brushes against my ear, and I jerk like he just poked me with a cattle prod as my entire body is flooded with a rush of sensations.

Goosebumps rise on my skin, and my limbs go heavy with pins and needles, like there’s an electric current running through me, cracking just under the surface and ready to light me up from the inside at the slightest touch. Warmth fills mychest, shifting the pain into a gentle buzz of something that feels good.

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