Page 48 of Closer Than You Think
I fall over next to her and pull her to me. We lay there, tangled in the sheets, both of us panting, our bodies slick with sweat and blood and the remnants of our passion. My heart thuds in my chest.
“I love you, Silas,” she says, and something cracks in me, like a wall around my heart is crumbling.
“I love you more than anything, Hallie. More than everything.”
Hallie's back is turned towards me, her breathing now evening out. I gently trace the outline of the S I carved into her skin with the pad of my thumb, marveling at the warmth of her blood still dripping onto the sheets.
My chest swells with a dark, twisted pride. She's mine now, forever marked by me. Forever protected by me.
Twenty-Two
Hallie
Morning comes and I wake feeling sore, bruised, and stung. Memories flash back into my mind. Silas fucking me awake, carving his initial into my skin, making me come harder than I ever had in my life.
What the hell.
I’ve never considered myself into kinky stuff. But being with him has unleashed a whole new side to me and I can’t pretend to hate it.
I’m drawn to him, pulled to him in a way I’ve never experienced before. He says he needs me, but I need him just as much.
My fingers roam to the back of my neck, expecting to touch the wound, but instead I feel a bandage. Silas must have taken care of me while I slept. The man might destroy me, but he puts me back together again every time.
I look over at him sleeping soundly in his massive bed. I scoot closer and wrap my arms around him.
“Mmm,” he moans, and turns to face me. His eyes are still closed but he smiles broadly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you,” I say, nuzzling against his shoulder.
Silas holds me close, his muscular arms encircling me in an embrace both gentle and possessive. Even in sleep, he radiates a powerful energy that thrills and unnerves me. I run my fingers along his bicep, tracing the ripple of sinew under smooth skin, marveling at the lethal strength contained just below the surface.
This man who kills for a living, who deals in blood and shadows, also tends my wounds with a lover's care. The dichotomy leaves me reeling, questioning everything I thought I understood about right and wrong. With Silas, those lines blur into obscurity.
“What are you thinking?” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. He blinks at me, green eyes piercing in the morning light.
I consider lying, giving some innocuous reply about nothing in particular. But in the intimacy of this moment, I can't bring myself to hide, not from him.
Silas pulls me closer, his strong arms enveloping me in his warmth. I feel safe here, protected. But I know the dangers that lurk in his world - the violence, the death. My heart aches at the thought of losing him to that darkness.
“Tell me about your work,” I say softly. It's a question that's weighed on me, though I've been hesitant to voice it. I need to understand this complex man who both thrills and terrifies me.
Silas stiffens, his jaw clenching. When he speaks, his voice is careful and measured. “It's more than just a job, Hallie. It's who I am.”
He pauses, and I remain quiet, giving him space to continue.
“I kill not because it's what I do . . . but because I crave it. Because I need to. And . . . because of what happened to me.” The words hang heavy in the air, his admission more frightening than I could have ever expected. But I’m not frightened of him.
“I wasn't always like this,” he says after a moment. “There was a time when I had a . . . normal life. But that ended the night I watched my brother get killed.
Silas takes a deep breath before continuing. “I was 10 years old when it happened. My brother Sam and I were walking home from the movies when a group of men attacked us. They were ruthless, like feral animals. Sam tried to protect me, but they overpowered him. I watched helplessly as they beat and stabbed him to death.”
Silas's voice cracks with emotion. “After that night, something inside me changed. Seeing that level of violence awakened a darkness in me. I started getting into fights, seeking out danger. When I was old enough I joined the military, only because I knew I’d be able to kill people there. It taught me control, but it also fueled my hunger for bloodshed.”
He turns to look at me, his green eyes piercing. “So you see, the man who kills without remorse was born that night they took my brother from me. The part that craves violence . . . that's who I am now. Some people crave cigarettes or drugs. I crave blood. I crave killing. And, well, now I crave you.”
He kisses me, and I pour everything I can’t say into kissing him back.
“Are you scared of me?”
