Page 9 of A Dance With Devils
“Whoever I am, is Malachi.”
Intent on not showing any interest in him at all, I grab another glass, pour him a drink and put it on the table. “Whatever. Are you fixing the power or not?”
“Are you letting me play with you or not?”
Not a chance.
“You fix the electrics and we’ll discuss the rest after you’ve proved yourself. Earn it.”
We stand in that moment for a while, both of us staring, with me trying not to buckle under the pressure of those eyes. They’re nearly black, like Devil’s Night used to be when we were kids. Black clothes, black masks, black sky and only the fires raging out on the streets to light the way through the houses. Dangerous nights. Nights when we ran the streets like reprobates and got ourselves into all kinds of shit that we shouldn’t have been anywhere near.
I take a long sip of the drink, gaze hovering over the top of it and my other hand balanced over the bread knife just in case. The vision of him makes me think back on those years for a few minutes. This guy, this Malachi, would have been an asset back then. Someone who would have caused all kinds of damage. Shame we’re all grown up now and it's too late. Even if the tattoos on my skin do keep me reminiscing of times gone by.
“Are you going to cut me, Ally cat?” he eventually says, his lips twitching.
Possibly. “Do you need cutting?”
His tongue licks over his lips, as he watches me. I’m three parts drooling at the sight of it and a quart part shivering at the thought.
“Sometimes.”
I turn away again and get on with sandwiches, irritated with myself. Who has thoughts like that about a man who’s said the sort of things he’s said? Let alone a man who’s followed her home? Not rational people, that’s for damn sure. But then rational people haven’t been through the shit I’ve been through in my life either. Sandwiches and jelly. That’s all I need to concentrate on for the time being. Jelly specifically.
“Are you fixing the electrics or not?” I mutter.
“I’d rather fuck.”
My mouth quirks, brow raising at the same time, as I lay the bread out and start spreading it up. “I’m sure you would, but I’m a lights on type of girl. We need electricity for that.”
Nothing happens behind me, but I can feel those eyes boring into me regardless of not looking at him. Still don’t know why. I’m nothing special in the slightest. Nothing overly tight and firm. Nothing remotely pretty in my opinion. Lank fucking hair, tired eyes. Tired goddamn everything. It’s only the ink on my skin that holds any form of beauty that I’m aware of because of the flowers and vines etched into me. And even they’re littered with scars from the past.
My hands unconsciously tighten the robe again, more than aware that half those tattoos are on show for him to see in my current state of dress. Still, I guess if he was going to rape me, he would have done that by now. It wouldn’t be hard. I’m small in comparison to him. Easy to overpower if he chose to play, as he calls it. And he can’t be from our past. If he was, we’d all be dead by now.
The thought has me turning around to look at him, wondering what the hell this is all about if not for rape or revenge. He’s not there. Nowhere to be seen at all. No sounds. No vision of a hot as hell guy I’m not even trying to deny being attracted to. Silent fucking ninja springs to mind. Big fucking ninja, but silent nonetheless. A big fucking ninja with money who apparently wants to play with my skin. I don’t think I’d mind either. Yet another reason why I should be making jelly sandwiches rather than thinking about him in any way.
I wander back out into the lounge, knife still in hand, and take a glance at the basement. He’s inside it. Not that I can see him, but I can hear him doing something quietly. What a strange fucking man. Hot man. Ninja. I snort at myself quietly and back away gently, retracing my steps until I’m back in the kitchen. Jelly sandwiches.
Ten minutes.
Chapter 4
Malachi
Poor people. Poor house. Poor old fucking electrics.
And what is that fucking stench?
A few more minutes making sure the circuits are in place, damn near electrocuting myself in the same breath, and I push the old box of connectors back into the recess I found it in. The sound of music hammers through the house instantly. Not a sound I would have matched her with, but definitely one the kid would be listening to.
It switches stations quickly, the volume turned down as quickly as it came on.
Half standing to get out of the broken-down area, I crouch to get back out into the hall and find half the house lights already on. The place is as fucking pitiable as it was in the dark, worse if I take into consideration the fact that I can now see all the trashed furniture clearly and it all smells like death came calling. It’s all at odds with her. Out of place. The Ally I saw in the bar wasn’t like this. She was poised. Self-assured. Confident in her stance and attitude. This around me now reeks of underprivileged beginnings and neglect.
“How does someone like you know about electrics?” her voice says from somewhere.
I follow the sound of it, eventually finding her in another room at a small ramshackle desk. A low lamp glows heavily on something she’s looking at, bills and documents laid out to the side.
My shoulder rests on the door frame. “I’m used to archaic things.” She looks over some paperwork, barely acknowledging the answer she asked for. “And I enjoy fixing things. Or breaking them.”
