Page 14 of Darkness Tempt Me
Mavik strides through the door. He has a certain dangerous determination about him as he straightens his navy-blue suit jacket and scans the café. My heart speeds up for a whole different reason. He came. For me. He stalks toward me like a predator on the hunt.
God, he’s always so intense and intimidating. His eyes hold a dark mystery I’ve always been tempted to solve. I remember the way he used to make me nervous, but there’s something beautiful about all that darkness.
He’s nothing like my ex or all the abusive people I’ve met throughout my life. Mavik isn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing, pretending to be kind. He doesn’t hide all that power under false smiles or soft glances. No, he’s a cunning wolf, walking proudly, wielding his intensity like a weapon he loves to sharpen. His confidence is both frightening and thrilling.
When he reaches my side, he studies me. His dark brown eyes, almost angry, take me in from head to toe, as if looking for physical injuries. His gaze is a possessive sweep over my body, and I shiver under his perusal. He must be reassured by whatever he sees because he pulls me into a strong embrace.
Mavik’s hold isn’t suffocating like Billy’s. Instead, his muscular arms are territorial, yet somehow grounding. It’s almost as if he’s protecting me from the world around us. I melt against him, shocked that he’s holding me like this in public.
Mavik’s fingers wrap around the back of my neck, tucking my face against his body. The intoxicating scent of his cologne invades my senses in all the best ways. “Citrus and pine with a hint of vanilla,” I murmur.
He pulls away from me and cocks his head, giving me a good look at all his masculine beauty. Mavik is all man in his expensive tailored suit. His dark brown hair is styled back and cropped close on the sides. His angular jawline has the right amount of scruff, just enough to make him seem edgy without detracting from his confident businessman image.
I give him a wide smile. “Coffee beans and espresso.”
Mavik cocks a thick brow. “What are you doing?”
“Telling you two things I smell.”
His lips tip into a seductive smile. “Okay,” he purrs. “And what’s one thing you can taste?” He leans in. Unable to fight this magnetic pull he seems to have on me, I sway forward slowly, hypnotized by him.Is he going to kiss me? Am I going to kiss him?
The thought is like a cold bucket of water to the face. I jerk back. What the fuck? Was I really about to try to kiss my boss? From my periphery, I notice someone standing there. Observing me. Watching me almost make a fool of myself in front of my boss. My heart rate picks up, and fear grips my throat. That creepy sensation is back, and I’m tempted to burrow backagainst Mavik’s chest. I pick up my paper cup and press it to my lips before taking a slow sip of my herbal tea. It’s a much-needed distraction from what I almost just did.
I lick my lips, trying to act normal. “Some kind of citrus, maybe orange peels mixed with something earthy.” My eyes snap back up to Mavik’s when I realize it sounds similar to how I’d describe his cologne. This is what I would imagine Mavik Blackwood would taste like. I blush.
Mavik chuckles again, a rough rumble deep in his throat. Is it me, or does my boss sound turned on? Images of me pleasuring myself fill my thoughts, distracting me from that unsettling feeling of someone watching me.
By the time I finally turn around to try to figure out who was staring, I know I’ve missed my opportunity. The person watching me is gone.
Chapter nine
Mavik
Even though it’s nearly 3 AM, and I’ve been at this for hours, I still can’t erase the image of fear I saw on Peyton’s face from my mind. I lounge back in a chair reminiscent of a throne, with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. I found the old junker tossed near the garbage behind a theater one day. I cleaned it up and refurbished it just for occasions like this. It’s the perfect chair for some of my much-needed breaks between torture.
Hunter walks into my plastic-covered kill room and eyes the mess around us. “They aren’t dead yet?”
A small smile tips my lips, not that Hunter can see it from behind my mask, but I’m sure he knows it’s there. I gesture toward Rian Burns’ limp body. “That one’s dead.”
“And O’Malley?” Hunter slips on his matching mask before approaching Tate O’Malley, another target from my kill list. Coming across two men from my list at the same time was a stroke of luck, and an opportunity I wasn’t going to pass on.
Tate is hanging from a hook in the ceiling, passed out, blood dripping onto the plastic below him. His hands are zip-tied from behind. “He’s resting.” I chuckle as I stand, making my way to the camera to readjust the angle, so Hunter isn’t in sight. I already removed the sound of tonight’s events so that it records silently. Hunter and I don’t collect any souvenirs, although one might argue that a video of the kill is a souvenir in itself.
For us, it’s insurance. We rarely kill together and never enter the camera feed at the same time. Usually, we alternate kills. I’ll kill when Hunter has a huge court case, or he’ll kill when I’m in a very public meeting, or out of the country, giving us strong alibis. It helps that Hunter and I are nearly the same height and build. If anyone were to grow suspicious, we would release an anonymous video to the cops of one of our kills on a day we were seen elsewhere in public.
Hundreds of kills over the past eighteen years, backed up and saved into a secure network that no one can access but us. Who said money can’t buy you everything?
“Want me to take Rian off his hook and start breaking down the body? Or is he part of the show for numbnuts, here?” Hunter gives Tate’s body a push, causing him to swing on his hook.
“Go on, take him down. But chop him up right here within eyesight. Good ol’ Rian can still put on a show. Plus, I didn’t bother covering any of the other rooms with plastic, and I’m sure Tate will want to see what we’ll do to him when he’s gone.”
Hunter laughs, pushing Tate’s body again when he notices the man starting to stir.
“Why did you bless Rian with a quick kill, but not Tate?”
“Rian sang like a canary once I started cutting into him. Gave me the names of his most recent victims. Tate, on the other hand? He’s a stubborn asshole.” Tate’s whole body gives a violent jerk at the sound of his name. He blinks his eyes open and immediately starts sobbing; big, fat, useless tears.
“Fuck,” Hunter drawls. “I hate it when they cry like this.”
