Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I doubt I’ll ever learn.
When Kaya and I take the drinks and head back to the VIP lounge, that’s where I find him. When I pass by his table, he glances up at me. There’s already a drink in his hand. A double shot of Jameson, neat. Never anything else.
I should keep moving. Maintain the course on autopilot. Because any other option is likely to send me careening into a state I don’t want to be in.
I stop anyway.
I can’t help it with him. I can never help it with him. We have a silent agreement, him and I. One where we avoid each other and pretend the other doesn’t exist. Only, I never really agreed to it. But I think there’s also an unspoken stipulation that if I break this arrangement, he’ll probably have to kill me.
I generally don’t provoke him. But tonight, I’m feeling reckless. And on edge. And I want to push him. I want to send him speeding into a state of discomfort for once, just so I don’t have to be alone. I want to chafe at the already raw wound festering inside of me.
My eyes move from his glass to the hands that rest atop the table. Strong. Masculine. Elegant. Those hands take life. Those hands wouldn’t hesitate to take mine too. And yet, in an odd twist of fate, those very hands gave me my life back.
Sort of.
My pulse kicks into overdrive at the memory. I’m firing on all synapses. Wired and worn in his presence, fully prepared to crash and burn. The room around us is in chaos. But at its epicenter, where he and I are together, everything is still and quiet.
Like a magnet, he lures my gaze to his face. There isn’t a man in this room that can rival him. Olive skin. Well-defined jaw. A strong nose and lips so sinful I want to bite them and make him bleed. Only so I can taste his darkness. Only so that I can say for certain he is human. Because sometimes, I don’t know. Is he a man, or is he merely a machine? Programmed with only the burning need and desire to kill like they say.
I’ve seen him kill. I’ve tasted his rage too. Tasted it so fiercely that some of it spilled over onto me, tainting me with the mark of the animal that lives inside of him. I crave that animal. I crave everything about this man with his perfect suits and his complete lack of human emotions. Maybe, just maybe, I envy him too.
What it must be like not to feel anything. Anything at all.
I want that for myself.
My pupils are dilated, and when they sweep over him tonight, he’s distorted. Even in a blurred state, he’s faultless. You’ll never find him in anything other than a suit. His skin is sometimes shadowed, but only one day’s worth of stubble at most. His hair is shaved at the sides and worn longer on the top. He’s clean cut, well-manicured and polished, and the complete opposite of the flaws that stitch me together.
Beneath his black-framed glasses, child-like brown eyes appraise me. They are fringed with thick dark lashes which he often tries to hide behind. Because he knows those eyes betray him. Those eyes fracture his cold veneer with an underlying innocence. There are times, like right now, when he can be downright benevolent. They skim over my body in a speedy appraisal and then darken. It’s never hunger I find there, but madness.
Oh, I love that madness. Because madness is better than nothingness. Madness means he isn’t completely immune to feelings. Madness means it isn’t apathy he feels when he has to look upon me.
Fucking asshole.
“Hi, Ronan.” My voice is laced with sweet venom, and I hope he hears it. “So nice to see you too. Yeah, my mom’s doing great, thanks for asking. Dying, but you know, that’s life. Oh and Em’s great too, in case you’re wondering.”
He blinks at me, and for a second I almost think I’m hallucinating. Because I could have sworn a frisson of guilt flashed through those brown irises. But it quickly turns cold under his stare, and I feel the sudden urge to hug myself.
I don’t know why I’m being such a bitch to him. But he’s irritated with me and I want to irritate him too. These pills make me act crazy, but it’s either that or collapse from exhaustion. I want to pick a fight with someone, and right now that someone happens to be him. He doesn’t respond though. He never responds.
He adjusts his collar and glances towards the door, mentally seeking an escape. In his eyes, he counts the steps to the door. He always does that. He doesn’t think I notice. But I do. The numbers are there in my head, and I’m counting right along with him.