Page 15 of Tainted Obsession 1
I drive my knife deep into his gut and twist it. A wet, choking sound gargles in his ruined throat, and the whites of his eyes flash.
“You like making women feel powerless? Do you feel like a big man when you rape them while they’re unconscious?” I seethe.
I rip my blade from his stomach and slam it between his legs. Even though he has no hope of survival, I relish the abject horror in his eyes at being gelded.
I lean in close, baring my teeth at him. He tried to drug Evelyn. He wanted to rape her.
He’s dying far too quickly.
“You’ll never touch her,” I snarl, his blood cooling on my rage-hated cheeks.
I’ll do what’s necessary to keep her safe. Crawford would never do this for her. He only cares about his own miserable life. He’s already put her at risk for wealth and power.
And yet, she’s engaged to him. She belongs to that bastard.
For now.
I drive my knife into my prey’s failing heart and allow myself to imagine that it’s George Crawford’s lifeblood spilling over my hand. Soon, his eyes will turn glassy, and his features will go slack, his mouth dropping open in a silent, perpetual scream.
I step away from the dead man and allow him to drop to the ground, discarded like garbage. Then, I cross to the grubby sink and wash away the crimson that coats my face and hands.
Before I close the bathroom door, I twist the lock so that no one will be able to enter once I exit. They’ll have to get the staff to unlock it, and by then, I’ll be gone.
I stroll around the crowded dance floor and make my way out into the warm night air. No one screams in alarm behind me. They won’t find his body for a few more minutes, at least.
I wind my way through the throng of late-night revelers in the streets, losing myself in the bustle of increasingly drunken people. My heartbeats slow from the rush of murderous adrenaline, and I walk with nonchalance that won’t attract any attention.
Evelyn is safe. I protected her from one monster tonight.
It’s past time for me to eliminate the other threat to her safety: George Crawford.
Chapter 9
Evelyn
Silvery blue eyes burn into my soul. Warmth blooms beneath the surface of my skin, and those eyes trail over every inch of my body, caressing me like the lick of a sensual flame. His full lips tilt in an arrogant smirk, as though he knows exactly how his intense gaze affects me.
Long fingers trail along my collarbone, sweeping my hair over my shoulder so that he can explore my neck. He tests my racing pulse, and his white teeth flash in a wicked grin.
The effect is stunning, knocking the air from my chest. Electricity crackles along my skin, arcing between us to create a sizzling connection. Little sparks ping over my bare flesh, the sensation almost too intense to bear.
An answering spark dances between my legs, and my core heats.
His fingers trail lower, brushing the line of my sternum as he traces a lazy path down my body. My breasts feel full and achy, and my nipples throb in time with my clit, desperate for his merciful touch.
He looms over me, his sharp smile taunting as he caresses the curve of my breasts without touching me where I need it most. I whine and arch toward his hands, but he eludes me witha low chuckle. The slightly cruel sound rumbles through me, a vibration between my legs. My thighs grow slick: a strange, new sensation.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment at my wanton reaction, but I can’t break from his burning gaze. His pupils dilate, darkening with desire that matches my own.
One hand continues teasing around my breasts, a maddening touch. His other lifts to cup my cheek, his thumb hooking below my jaw. He holds me as though I’m made of porcelain and tips my head back, so I’m locked in his fiery stare.
The sheer masculine perfection of his sculpted face is nearly unbearable to behold, his proximity arousing me to the edge of pain.
“Please…”
Is that my breathy plea? I don’t recognize my own voice in that sultry tone.
“Evelyn…”
