Page 84 of Undisputed Chaos
The pathetic ex who'd somehow convinced himself he understood my angel. Who'd shown up at her gallery explaining her paintings to strangers like he was the fucking curator of her soul.
He wasn't trying to control her, which made it worse. He was studying her. Learning her patterns, her favorites, her fears, like she was some fascinating specimen he could decode if he just watched long enough.
Creepy bastard.
The freak had no idea what kind of monster he'd pissed off just by existing in the same universe as my girl.
I'd see my brothers in the morning. Connor would be down for some creative intimidation; he had a gift for making people understand consequences without leaving too many permanent marks.
Jax would probably suggest something more psychological, and knowing him, it would be diabolical as fuck.
But me? I wanted blood. I wanted to carve my initials into Noah's chest so he'd remember exactly whose girl he'd been studying.
Options, options.
My cock hardened at the violent fantasies, pressing against Isla's ass through my boxers.
Even my murder plans turned me on when they involvedprotecting her. I was so fucking gone for this girl, it wasn't even funny.
Actually, it was hilarious, being brought to my knees by a five-foot painter who collected vintage pillows and probably cried at Disney movies.
She pushed back against me in her sleep, and I nearly lost my mind. "Fuck, angel," I groaned softly. “I’m already dying over here.”
My hand abandoned her breast to trail down her soft stomach, fingers splaying wide across skin so sweet and pale it made me want to write poetry. Or commit more murders. Both seemed equally likely at this point.
Her skin was different from my own—no raised lines from belt buckles, no memories of hands that should have protected but destroyed instead. Just perfect, pale canvas that had never known real violence, and never will.
Unmarked, unscarred, perfect. I traced an invisible 'A' against her skin, right above her hip bone.
Maybe I'd tattoo it there someday. Something small, something only I would see. A permanent reminder that I owned every inch of this curvy body.
Her ribbon had loosened in her sleep, and I carefully retied it, making sure the knot sat exactly where I wanted it.
The silk felt expensive between my fingers, probably because it was.
I had it custom-made after she began playing my game, embroidered with my name in thread that matched her eyes.
Because I was apparently a romantic serial killer now. Who knew?
"I've never had something so beautiful before," I confessed to her sleeping form. "Something so fucking perfect."
The admission made my chest tight. I'd killed the monsters who shared my blood with these hands, ended the nightmare that had shaped me before Wade Easton found me half-dead and feral.
I'd dismantled lives with a few keystrokes, but holding Isla feltmore dangerous than any fight I'd ever been in. More terrifying than the first time I'd fought back against fists that came in the dark.
She was the first person I’d let this close who didn't see the damage written in scars and ink. She just saw... me.
Not the kind of normal guy the Eastons had helped me become, not the ghost of the broken kid I'd been, but someone worth loving.
I shifted, pulling her impossibly closer, my entire body curled around hers like I could absorb her into my skin.
Maybe if I held her tight enough, no one else would ever be able to touch her. Maybe if I branded myself into her dreams, she'd never want anyone but me.
"Sleep well, angel," I whispered, closing my eyes and letting her warmth seep into my bones. "When you wake up, I'm going to ruin you all over again."
The smile that spread across my face in the darkness would have terrified most people. But not my Isla. She'd probably find it charming.
I fucking loved that about her.
