Page 8 of Little Death
I nearly laugh. It comes out as a choked snort. Christ. This is a literal nightmare. But goddamn, I love her with my whole heart.
Me: I hate you. Kovu from The Lion King II, you bitch.
Yasmine: You love me. Fine. I’ll text you in the morning. Love your face. Glad you aren’t dead.
Me: I do love you. I owe you double margs.
Yasmine: Damn right you do.
I love her so fucking much. If I make it out of this, I’ll give her all the spicy margaritas she wants.
I lock my phone and stow it back in my clutch, realizing Aiden is still fixed on me like I’m a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. Could he have figured out who I am? Does he recognize me from the countless news stories and social media posts with the photos of my perfect family? Oh God, I hope not.
“Alright, I told her I’m about to leave. She thinks I’m waiting on an Uber, and she’s going to sleep. Please don’t… go after her or something. She’s completely innocent in all this.” I’d die if something happened to her. Yasmine is the only person who believes me. Not even Reggie wanted to get involved in my suspicions, and he’s known me since I was a baby.
Aiden’s head tilts, reminding me of a cat. His muscular arms cross over his chest. “As long as you keep your word, I’ll keep mine. I won’t hurt her.”
“Fine,” I say. “Are we going to keep talking all night, or are you going to roll the dice?”
He gives me a long, hard look and then raises his hand to my mouth, the cream-colored dice in his palm. “For luck,” he says and lifts his hand higher.
When I press my lips together in answer, his mouth quirks in an oh-well gesture, like this is all a game to him.
And maybe it is.
Perhaps he wants to play with his food before eating it.
Aiden tips his hand, and the dice tumble out of it and onto the blood-red felt of the pool table. I jerk involuntarily like I’m going to grab for them to stop this farce before I’m trapped with him for the night, but he takes my arms in his and moves so quickly, I’m pinned between his body and the pool table before I can do anything. We both watch as the dice tumble and tumble and tumble until they crash into the side of the pool table and finally, finally stop. We both jerk as the number is revealed.
Snake eyes.
Two.
Probability of rolling a two? Less than 3 percent.
Less than three fucking percent.
Should I let it get to me that snake eyes are bad luck? My stomach hollows out as I consider exactly what he could have in mind for me for the rest of the night. I didn’t put any stipulations on what he could and couldn’t do. What does ‘do with as I please’ even mean to a man like Aiden O’Connor?
I dread finding out.
I’d gambled for my freedom… and lost.
“How should I have you first, pet?” he asks, his mouth unnervingly close to my ear, voice rumbling and dangerous—I’m pinned and helpless. “On your knees? Or bent over this table so I can see if you’re worth the trouble?”
Shudders wrack my body as I lock my knees to stay upright. Well, I guess that answers the question of what he has in mind for me. None of it good.
“Do you think that’s going to scare me?” I ask with more bravery than I feel. I’m giving up trying to interpret my emotions at this point. The one thing I do know is I can’t let him see any weakness. “Because it doesn’t.”
Instead of pissing him off, his lips hover at my neck, and he’s so close they tickle my skin as they draw into a smirk. “Alright, pet, whatever you say.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Then tell me your name now and I’ll call you that instead.”
That’s not happening.
A shiver threatens, but I turn to stone to fight it off. Chills race down my arms and tighten my nipples instead. Fantastic. “Fine,” I grit out. “Call me whatever you like as long as you tell me what you want from me.”
