Page 13 of Beyond Hate (Beyond #3)

Otto

I was waiting. Waiting for the cops to at least put out some kind of information with my description on the television. I was waiting to hear sirens, to watch them scrambling in an attempt to find a man who wasn’t the man he used to be. The name Otto Blythe would be useless to them.

Even though the body I was in had killed before—or maybe especially because the body I’d been in had killed before—there was no trail. No trace of me.

That didn’t mean I didn’t expect London to betray me. To do exactly what I knew Nikki had done…

But there was nothing. He rode in a car to the police station, and then a few hours later he came out. He broke down sobbing on the steps, and it had taken every ounce of willpower I had not to come out and drag him into the shadows, to tease a confession out of him that he’d done it.

That he’d told them all about me.

That he was exactly the person I knew he’d been once upon a time.

But after a few minutes, he wiped his tears and called a car to take him home.

And… there’d been nothing. Either they were playing the information they had close to their chests, or the whispers I’d heard from the officers when I went back to the club to see if they were looking for me there were true.

They didn’t have a suspect. It was just some old pervert with an angry wife—no real loss to the world.

London hadn’t seen anything.

And…

I couldn’t figure it out.

He had no reason to protect me, no reason not to tell them everything about me, from my height to my eye color, because he’d seen it all.

But he kept it to himself.

And as smart as it would have been not to be curious, I couldn’t help it. Maybe that was his goal—maybe he was trying to lure me out so I would walk straight into an ambush.

Maybe he would feel better about what was happening if he let me walk into it on my own. I wasn’t sure… and honestly, a small part of me couldn’t imagine London being so devious.

Nikki would have set a trap with ease, or killed me himself. But London…

“Fuck,” I said beneath my breath. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could sit here and pretend that he was some monster from my past come to life. Not when I knew what his sweet eyes looked like gone wide with pleasure and shock.

Not when I was approaching his apartment without taking any precautions, because I was certain that London wasn’t the kind of person who would do something like set me up for a police sting.

And if they got me, had the man I’d been before been sloppy enough with his misdeeds that they’d find some kind of evidence to put me away? How ironic would it be if I was brought back to life, just to be sentenced to death for murders I hadn’t actually committed?

I shook the thought away and slid into the building instead of focusing on things I wouldn’t allow. I’d been here enough times to know which apartment was London’s, and I’d been here enough times to recognize that the man who lived with him wasn’t here—his flashy car wasn’t in the parking spot.

I still slid my hand into my pocket, my thumb playing over the hilt of my knife, after I knocked on the door.

It was strange, knocking as if I was just here for a visit.

Like I wasn’t the same person who’d abducted him off the streets—the same person who’d killed a man in front of him for having the audacity to touch him.

Like I wasn’t a monster made flesh because of the things he’d done to me in the past.

There was sound from the other side of the door—a little shuffling, a low curse as someone knocked into something…

then silence. My eyes flicked to the little glass circle in the center of the cheap wood.

I was pretty sure he was looking out at me, my body still capable of recognizing what it felt like when his eyes were on me, no matter who he was in this life.

There was the sound of metal sliding against metal… and the door swung inward.

Fuck, he really didn’t have any survival instincts, did he? He didn’t even try to keep himself safe by keeping the chain lock in place. He just took a step back with his arms wrapped around his waist and looked up at me with a haunted, broken expression.

Those eyes… Even if everything else about him had changed, his eyes were still the same. Full of depths, oceans… stars. An entire universe where I’d thought we’d escape, where we’d find a way to be free from our mother’s hold.

A world that had burned to the ground when he’d looked at me as she’d raised a gun and put a bullet in my head.

I…

“You could have told them about me, London.” The words came out before I could stop them, and I stepped into the apartment before someone had a chance to see me loitering there in the hallway.

He only hesitated for a second before he closed the door behind me, pressing his back against the wood as he turned that gaze to me again.

“I know.”

“I’m not saying they would have been able to catch me, but you had a chance to get away. You had a chance to do something to save yourself.”

London pressed his lips together like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say anything, and his eyes dropped when he answered me again. “I know.”

Just those two words, nothing else.

It wasn’t enough for me. I wasn’t passive or patient; I wasn’t the kind of person who went for cryptic. I took a few quick steps toward him and tangled my fingers into the blond strands of his hair, yanking his head up so he was looking at me.

His eyes were wide, just a little wet. Just a little afraid.

A little hot.

“Why didn’t you tell them about me?”

He swallowed hard enough that I watched his Adam’s apple bounce, and whimpered when I tightened my grip in his hair as he tried to look away.

“I…”

“Why, London?” I hissed his name like it burned my tongue, as if saying it was admitting that my little quest for vengeance was pointless because the man I was looking for wasn’t home. Someone else had moved in—someone soft and sweet and broken and—

“I didn’t want them to hurt you,” he whispered. It was barely audible, so soft I wasn’t sure I’d made out the words right, so unsure it was like he was trying to convince himself of the honesty just as much as me.

It wasn’t…

This wasn’t…

“Why?”

Was that the only damn question I could ask?

At least he didn’t try to look away again when he answered. He just fixed me with a helpless, almost pleading expression, like he was hoping I’d have the answer for him. “I don’t know. I just… I couldn’t do it. I’m not Nikki , Otto.”

He said my name like it was a curse, like it was the reason he looked so lost and confused. And maybe it was—maybe I was. But I knew one thing… I’d known it before we left the facility, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The man in my arms wasn’t Nikki… and I wanted him even more.

I didn’t give him an answer; I didn’t have one to give.

Instead, I tangled my fingers tighter in his hair and pulled him up on tiptoe so I could crash my mouth against his.

It was almost intoxicating, feeling the way his breath came out in a trembling gasp to feed me all the insecurity and fear he felt.

It was bliss—saccharine and dangerous all at once, because I knew if I let myself, I could get addicted to this.

I could get addicted to him.

I could want him more than I wanted my revenge, more than I wanted to keep myself safe.

And that…

Well, shit, that was how I’d died before, wasn’t it? And maybe things were different now—maybe I was different now—but I had to remember what had gotten me here.

Who had gotten me here.

And that who was opening his mouth as if he couldn’t resist feeding me the sound of his moans, even as he flattened his body against the door behind him in an attempt to shy away from my touch.

This wasn’t public, though, and I didn’t have to worry about whether or not he’d end up calling out for help.

I had him here, and I could do whatever I wanted to him. He’d let me in.

London let out another whine as I reached behind him and locked the handle on the door, then jerked out of my arms with a small cry when I pulled away so I could slide the metal chain home.

I didn’t want anyone interrupting us, and I had no idea when the man who lived with him was going to be home. He didn’t seem to have a schedule. He was…

A nuisance that I needed to take care of. But I’d been so intent on watching London that I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

I was watching London now too. He was looking at me with petrified eyes and blown pupils.

Rabbit . Fuck, the name fit him so well. Nikki had been a wolf, a snake in the grass. But London was all wide eyes and fear… soft and sweet.

Delicious.

I wanted to eat him up. He jerked when I started toward him, half scrambling, half running across the room, like putting a couch between us would be enough to stop me from getting what I wanted. He’d let me in here—he’d opened the door.

He knew what he was doing.

“London, why are you running from me? There’s nowhere to go.

” I glanced around the little apartment, ignoring the mess and the drugs I saw lying on the counter.

They weren’t his, and it wasn’t my problem.

Though… a small part of me wanted to wrap my hand around his throat and drag him out of here—lock him up again.

At least at the facility he’d been in a clean room where I could keep my eyes on him.

He’d been somewhere safe, tucked away from assholes like the one he lived with.

Here, well…

“O-Otto…” he stuttered, fear and something hotter warring in his tone.

“Just because I let you in didn’t mean I wanted…

I don’t want …” I wasn’t sure whether he didn’t finish the sentence because I started toward him again or because the lie was so obvious that it was choking him.

Whatever the reason, he just took off at a run, heading toward a room in the back of the apartment.

His bedroom.

Probably where the man who lived here had held him down and fucked him. The thought made something in me snarl, snap. I’d been enjoying playing with him, watching him try to skirt his way around me… but I was done with the games.

A few quick strides closed the distance between us, and my fingers catching at his shoulder spun him around.

He knocked into the kitchen wall, his hand scrambling wildly at my chest as I slipped my fingers carefully around his throat.

I squeezed, hard enough that it stole the breath from him, but not long enough to do more than make him a little dizzy before I let go.

The hard gulp of air he took was cut off as my fingers flexed again, and he raised his eyes up to mine.

“If you really aren’t him, London…” I leaned in, running my nose along his jaw and giving his neck another little squeeze.

“If you really aren’t Nikki, then prove it.

Don’t lie to me.” My tongue flicked out, playing against the shell of his ear and drawing another little low sound from his chest. “Don’t make shit up.

You didn’t betray me, so that’s a start.

Now… look at me and tell me you don’t want this.

Go on.” I leaned back, shifting my grip so my thumb could stroke across his lower lip while my fingers splayed on his jaw. “Tell me you hate this.”

His eyes were so wide, so luminous, like he could summon the words somehow if he looked long enough.

“I don’t want…” he started, and I felt something in my chest start to constrict.

Maybe it wasn’t a fair game, asking him to feed me the truth.

Maybe some part of him didn’t want this.

Whatever this electric static running between us was—the strange tether that had brought me here when I had no way of actually knowing if it was a trap—maybe he didn’t feel it.

Maybe… “I thought I’d imagined everything…

You just disappeared and I… I don’t want…

” His brows came together painfully and he wet his lips, almost recoiling when his tongue met my thumb. “I don’t know what I want.”

And there it was. I’d asked him to be honest, and that was maybe the most honest thing he could have said. The way he tried to pull away from me, the way his pulse was thundering violently beneath my hands? It was obvious that he was conflicted.

It was obvious that nothing about what was happening was obvious to him.

“What if I don’t care what you want, London?” I slid closer to him, pressing the heat of my body against his hard enough that I felt his breath come out in a low groan. “What if I just take what I want? What if I give you what you think you deserve?”

Up until this point, I’d made it clear exactly what I thought he deserved—pain, torture, death… and fuck, maybe a part of me still wanted to hurt him.

No, there was no maybe. I knew a part of me still craved the way he whimpered when he was in pain. My fingers around his throat twitched at the thought of squeezing until the breath left him and his face went pale. A very real part of me wanted to break him.

But…

“Okay.” His answer was soft, unsure, and… “Fuck, I might as well have killed that man, Otto. I…” He looked up at me, and there was that wetness in his eyes again. “I deserve whatever you do to me.”

Penance. Was he looking for punishment? Did he want me to make him suffer for the way he’d led that man to his death when he took him back to that room after he’d noticed me? I wasn’t going to sugar coat it for him; I wasn’t going to lie to him. He’d seen me, he knew.

So if he needed to be punished… Well…

“Get on your knees, London.” I switched my grip, sliding my thumb between his lips and grabbing his lower jaw.

His body went stiff for a second before he slid down the wall behind him like I’d cut his strings, like my fingers digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks had somehow taken all the fight out of him.

“Fuck, you’re pretty when you’re breaking.

Do you know that? Little rabbit, so willing to do whatever it takes to survive…

Don’t you know…” I slipped my thumb into the heat of his mouth, delving it along the length of his tongue until he gagged.

“A wolf will eat you, no matter how much you want to trust it.”