Chapter 167

I fed Shakespeare, my pet guinea pig, before taking a shower.

The uncertainties danced in my mind, still reeling from the twist my life had taken. It was hard to believe I was sleeping under the same roof as the man I once loved and who also happened to be my parents' killer. A fugitive murderer.

Dante wasn’t the same person I once wanted to give the world to, but he was still the one who had promised me the universe. And it hurt more than I could ever begin to describe.

He carried emotional corpses with him, and I didn’t know to what extent I could have ever imagined sharing those memories with him. Yet, my throat tore every time I thought of my parents.

Damn.

The nausea gnawed at my stomach with every cursed memory and the sense of betrayal, even by myself. It was corrosive. My arteries were disintegrated by the feeling of having been stabbed in the back.

I inhaled.

Exhaled.

Inhaled and exhaled again.

I finished washing my body and hair, my shoulders slightly relaxed.

As I reached for the towel, my eyes wandered to the door, widening in surprise at the figure standing there.

My first impulse was to cover the front of my body with the towel, breathing heavily through my mouth.

“What the fuck? What are you doing here?” I exclaimed, thirsting to tear him apart.

Dante leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, scrutinizing me with those violent eyes.

“I didn’t know where you were. Thought you might have run away again.”

My face twisted.

“Do you really think I’d be that stupid?”

“I don’t know. Your actions haven’t exactly proven otherwise.”

I pressed the towel tighter against my body, noticing a black object in his hand: a gun.

My chest burned. I tried not to let fear take over my blood, but it was a hard fight whenever I remembered what he had already done in my presence with that weapon.

I couldn’t open the doors and let him into me.

I’d rather be burned alive than give Dante even a spark of my fear.

“What are you trying to cover up?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“I have a right to privacy.”

“There’s nothing there I haven’t already seen.”

“For reasons you know very well.”

“And that I didn’t like one bit.”

His eye twitched.

The idea that seeing me naked hadn’t been enjoyable for him sparked a dangerous kind of joy in my veins.

“Everything about you is marked with my name,” he declared, ignoring my silent plea for him to leave.

“Nothing about me is marked with anything of yours.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“There’s nothing I’m more certain of than my feelings for you.”

His brow furrowed before he stepped away from the frame and walked toward me. My muscles tensed. My fingers clenched around the towel, my feet rooted in place.

My lungs began to shrink, barely allowing air to pass through.

His aura consumed my shadow, merging with it until his scent was stronger than any thought crossing my mind in that damn second.

The bastard, though his face was unreadable, had eyes glinting with wickedness.

“Breathe, Gray. Or is your certainty killing you?” he asked, amused.

Our faces were inches apart.

One small step.

Just one, and we could end up destroying each other more than ever before.

“You’re pathetic.”

“And you’re one hell of a liar. I don’t know where you learned to lie so badly, but your education is lacking. Maybe a lesson will teach you some manners.”

I kept my gaze locked on him.

“Don’t act like you’re better.”

So gently it startled me, his fingers brushed against my chin, tilting it upward.

“I’m worse,” he whispered. “And that’s why I don’t hide.”

Suddenly, his gun moved in a way that pulled my towel away. I didn’t know how it happened, but the chill settled into my stomach, and goosebumps rose as I realized how addicting Dante’s warmth was against my skin.

“What are you so eager to see, you bastard?” I asked, dripping with anger. But my heart was pounding. Almost desperate. Almost pleading.

He didn’t touch me, but it felt like he could crawl inside my body and fuck my soul.

I vetoed the flicker of desire trying to surface. I couldn’t. It was utterly forbidden. Dante was a killer. His nature was forged in violence. He would kill anyone. The people he loved. Me. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. Pleasure should not be something I could feel when Dante touched me.

“What I do to you,” he murmured. “How I kill you. It’s better than any enemy’s blood. It’s delicious, Gray.”

My spine arched slightly as I felt the cold metal slide over my stomach. His gun was moving lower, lower, and lower, forcing me to clamp my legs shut.

My pulse was erratic, disturbing my hormones. My nipples hardened, sweat from the hot water condensation sliding between them.

I hardened my expression at the momentary reaction, mentally cursing even the most screwed-up god for letting him control me like this.

“You son of a bitch.”

He smirked faintly, savoring how his weapon nestled between my closed thighs.

“I’ll give you two minutes to get dressed and show up at the door of the living room. We have matters to resolve,” he stated, stepping back.

I stood naked before Faulkner once again, and it seemed like nothing more than a child’s game to him. Dante only wanted to provoke me, to externalize a feeling greater than the repulsion I offered him. And I almost gave in.

I almost gave him desire. Pleasure.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out but a harsh squeal. I wanted to punch the wall but spared my bones. Rage coursed through my veins. I hated all of this. I hated being subjected to him.

I couldn’t give Dante what he wanted. I would have to fight back.