Page 55 of Pray for Scars
But I don’t do that.
I step back from her touch, so I can fucking think. “What?” I ask her, even though I heard her perfectly clearly.
She doesn’t back down. She just crosses her arms, gazing at me as if she’s untouchable. As if I’m nothing. Not many people have ever looked at me like that.
“Ask me again,” I growl at her, stepping closer, unable to help myself.
She doesn’t even blink. “You’re disgusting. Did you know that? You and your entire family, Malikov. But you’ve fucked with the wrong girl, because I’m not down for that. I’m not down for you using girls as toys, to get me into your father’s hands, you sick fuck—”
I can’t play this game anymore.
I reach for her wrist, yank her to me, spin her around so her back is against my chest.
“Don’t talk.”
She struggles, at first, but I bring my hand to her throat and she stops. We stand that way a moment, and I feel her back rise and fall as she breathes against me. The knife she had in her hand is back in her pocket, and I’m very aware she knows how to fucking use it.
“What do you know?” I ask her in the dark. “Why are you really here, Lilith?”
Jeremiah. Have they…
She pulls away from me. Reluctantly, I let her. She walks deeper into Maverick’s house, and she doesn’t seem at all triggered by the fact he tied her to a bed just upstairs.
She probably fucking liked it.
She flicks a light switch on, illuminating the foyer. Dark wooden floors, nearly black carpet beyond the entranceway. A skeleton painting on the wall beside us, beside a horizontal mirror lined in black. A mini wine bar, all reds, in case Maverick just can’t fucking wait to get to the kitchen.
She spins around to face me, that same smug look on her face. “Would you like me to make it quick for you, Lucifer?” she purrs, cocking her head. “Or slow?”
My hands ball into fists and I take a deep breath. “What do youknow?”
She smiles, lashes fluttering. But I see the tears still clinging to them. Did she actually cry overme?
“Everything you don’t want me to know,” she answers me.
I bite my tongue. I want to scream. If only that were true.
“I didn’t,” I manage to say, itching to dig into my back pocket. To pull out a cigarette. My lighter. But I don’t. I’ll need both hands for her soon.
Her eyes narrow, and I see some of her anger for the first time. “You didn’t...what, exactly?”
“I didn’t fuck Ophelia.”
Her brows shoot up. “Oh?”
I return her cruel smile. “At least, not with my dick.”
Her jaw clenches and I see the hurt flash in her eyes. But she won’t give it to me. She won’t tell me what it does to her, imagining me inside someone else.
“I wish I could say the same,” she says softly.
The words I told her at Sanctum come back to me.It’s cute, that you think I give a fuck who you fuck.
I don’t.
I don’t fucking care.
I don’t fucking care.
