Page 33 of The King of Hearts

I pull the black silk ribbon from the box with a shaky hand and set it to the side. Later, I’ll place it in my bedside table drawer where the other one is. I flip the lid off and peer inside the box. There’s not enough light on this side of the room, so I tip it toward me. Why I’m not surprised to find another bloody heart should concern me, but at the moment, I can’t muster up that emotion.

My curiosity is piqued once again.

Reaching inside the box, I pick up the heart. This one feels fresher than the one before, like there’s still some warmth to it, which makes me believe it was relieved from its owner fairly recently. It’s slick with blood and gore, and it feels firm and heavy in my hands. A male human heart only weighs about ten ounces, but this one seems heavier. Like I’m not only holding this life-saving organ, but the weight of the guilt Ishouldfeel, but disturbinglydon’t.

A presence approaches from behind, but I don’t turn around.

“Who did you take this from?” I ask the devil in the room.

“Jacob Barrington.” His deep voice comes right behind me.

I went to school with Jacob. He was a year above me and was a major player. You know the term “notches on a belt”? It was rumored that he literally had a belt that hung from the headboard of his bed, and he actually gouged out notches for each girl he slept with. He keeps it on display like some sort of trophy so all of the girls can see it. According to Emersyn, he’s already filled one belt and is working on his second.

“Why?” I ask.

He comes closer on silent feet. Warmth greets my back, an oceanic scent fills my senses, and it’s not coming from the open balcony doors. He’s not touching me, but he’s so close that I feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. The hairs on my arms stand up, and a delightful shiver races down my spine.

“He had the misfortune of believing he could touch what belongs to me.”

My eyes close as a wave of desire nearly steals my breath. Not just from his proprietary words, but the deep tenor of his voice and the possessive vibes radiating off him.

Jacob tried back in high school to add me to his notch collection, but I was never interested. I made it quite clear that he had no chance with me and that he should stop trying. Of course, he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t often that he came across agirl who didn’t drop to their knees in front of him and open their mouth wide. To a person like him, rejection is one of the worst forms of punishment.

I keep my back to my devil and ask, “What did he do?”

Jesus, I wish he would touch me. I want to feel his hands all over my body, every inch of it. Would he handle me gently? Or would he be rough as he manhandled me in the way he wants? It’s a silly curiosity. He’d definitely be rough. Something tells me the other night was barely a drop in the bucket of what he’s actually capable of.

And the fucked-up thing is, I want it. I want the brutality and the depravity and the savageness. I want it so fucking much that my thighs are drenched with arousal.

“I overheard him speaking to someone, in detail, of the way he would fuck you.” There’s a hard edge to his voice, like he’s clenching his jaw. “For that alone, I sawed off his dick first.”

The image that pops into my head at his words does curious things to my body. A tingle starts in my core, pin-pointed right at my clit, and I shiver at the sensation. The rational part of my brain recognizes that it should be fear that runs through my nerves, but the irrational part, the part that’s apparently faulty, doesn’t give two shits.

“I found pictures on his phone. Ones of you at the beach last summer. You were wearing a lavender bikini that barely covered your ass and tits. For that, I made sure the knife was dull when I started carving into his chest.”

My eyes close, and another mental image of Jacob laid out on a table with his arms, legs, and torso tied down comes to mind. I should be repulsed and terrified, and maybe if it were any other man telling me these things, I would be. I picture it with ease and there’s not an ounce of remorse for the man who so obviously went through unimaginable torture. Pain that my devil inflictedon him because he said he wanted to fuck me and took private pictures.

He presses his hard body against me, including the steel-like length of his cock. Two layers of clothes separate us, and I wonder what it would feel like if they were gone. If we were naked and in this same position.

I’ve never desired a specific man before. I’ve been horny and curious about sex, sure. My mind has run wild with vivid scenarios, mostly due to the books that I read. I’ve never pictured anyone in particular. It’s always just been a blank face. But more recently in my dreams, the mysterious man now has a face, only it’s shrouded by shadows. Even more recently, those shadows part and reveal a man in a black mask.

“Put the heart back in the box, Vicious.”

My eyes slide open, and I tilt my head down to look at the heart I forgot I’m holding. It’s a little bigger than a fist, so I can’t close my fingers all the way around it. I give it a squeeze, and it squishes a little but mostly stays firm. Blood drips from between my fingers and falls to the floor between my bare feet.

I put it back in the box and replace the lid on top. Tomorrow, I’ll take it to The Cove and put it in its own glass jar like the other one.

I stand there and wait to see what my devil will do next. It doesn’t take long for him to give his next order.

He moves away from me, and disappointment hits.

“Go to the bed.”

I turn and look at him. The first thing I notice is he’s got the mask on again, but I didn’t really expect him to show up without it. The deep grooves in the plastic look just as ominous as they did the other day. He has on a pair of black military style pants with pockets down the sides and a dark-gray long-sleeved shirt that covers his muscular chest. The dark hair popping out of the top of the mask looks spiked, like he’s recently run his fingersthrough it. On his feet are a pair of black combat-style boots. He stands with his feet planted apart and his arms loose at his sides. His head is slightly tilted to the side as he silently regards me.

“The bed, Vicious. I left you another present.”

My eyes jerk to the bed, and on the end is another black box. I walk over to it. This one isn’t like the other two. It’s long and slender, over a foot in length. My hands are still sticky with blood from the heart, but it’s the last thing on my mind as I pick up the box and slip the ribbon off. When I remove the lid, my breath stalls for a minute at what’s inside.

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