Page 116 of Unorthodox
Zeke traces the gun down her jaw, over her neck, right in front of me. He dips the barrel beneath her dress, circling her breast, and I watch her face flush pink. Her lips tremble, and my hands start to shake at my sides.
Zeke laughs against her ear, runs his tongue down her jaw.
“He’ll pay you for the early pick up,” he says softly against her skin, but his eyes are on mine. “And you’ll get what you’ve been waiting for.” Then he bites her, and just as I can’t fucking take it, just as I’m about to break his goddamn neck, consequences be damned, it’sAddisonthat moves.
She kicksupbehind her, her legs completely free, and she lands her heel in Zeke’s balls, judging by the way he grunts, doubling over and loosening his hold on her enough that she spins around, her back to me.
In that split second when Zeke has his hands on his knees, gun in one, I’ve drawn my own Glock, my arm wrapped around Addison.
I pull the trigger, my arm jumping back slightly from what I’d never admit is nerves.
I hold Addison tighter as Zeke goes to the ground, his back hitting the top step behind him, his gun clattering down the stairs.
In my head, I see it all again.
Him on top of her, her dress to her knees. His gun trained on her head. His tongue on her face. His teeth in her jaw.
I see it all, and I let go of her, push past her to sink to the floor, flipping the gun in my hand.
The first hit has Zeke’s entire body jolting, a strangled groan coming from his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head.
The second and blood gushes from his nose and his feet scramble against the floor as he tries in vain to get away from me.
The third, and he stops moving as I slam the grip of the gun against his face. I stand to my feet, use my foot to kick him down the stairs, his body thudding on each step, but without consciousness, he can’t stop his own fall.
I see his own weapon at the bottom of the stairs as he lies motionless, covered in blood, and I quickly walk down the steps, pick it up, hold the barrel to his head, and with Addison silent at the landing, I pull the fucking trigger.
“You fucked up, love.”
With Zeke dead on the floor, I stand and face Addison, dropping his gun and stowing my own. I have blood on my face, blood all over my hands and my shirt, but I don’t care.
When I climb the stairs and reach for Addison, I don’t fucking care.
People will be here soon. Guards will come looking for the source of the gunshots, but I don’t give a fuck about that either.
All I can think about is that gun to her fucking head.
I shove her against the wall at her back.
“What was that?” I try to swallow down my anger. Try to keep up my mask of cold indifference. Judging by the dead man at the bottom of the stairs that she keeps darting her eyes to, it’s becoming increasingly harder to control myself in her presence. Especially as she defies me at every fucking turn.
She tries to push me away, tries to grab at my hand pinning her down by her chest. Her eyes are red, her cheeks flushed, blood on her skin. She looks again at Zeke on the floor, then back up to me. “Let me go, Max—”
I clamp my hand over her mouth. “Answer my fucking question.”
Her chest heaves as she glares at me. I loosen my hold over her mouth as her lips move beneath my hand. “You…you fucking left me,” she hisses, clearly brave from the drinks she should have never had. Zeke’s death doesn’t seem to be affecting her like Ben’s did. Maybe she’s becoming accustomed to me shooting people in the goddamn head for her. “You told me to stay and then…” Her words are coming out choked, I see her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Evora.” Fuck.“You-you piece of shit. You’re a fucking piece of—”
Despite what she heard with Evora, despite the fact that Zeke no doubt pointed her in that direction, I can’t hold back my anger. I just saved her life. I just fucking saved her life and she’s ungrateful.
I slap her, cutting off her words.
I broke my own promise to not hurt her again.
God damn her.
Before she can react, my fingers tangle in her hair as I kiss her so hard,Ican’t breathe. Her teeth clash with mine as she tries to turn her head, but I don’t let her. Her hands grip my arms hard enough to hurt. This isn’t passion.
This is fucking hatred.
