Page 56 of Crossed

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stopping when I’m a few steps away. I don’t dare get too close.

I’ve thought of little else since the night I killed for her, because as much as I try to justify it, now that the green haze has lifted from my eyes, what else can it be called but a crime of passion?

I’ve sought penance ever since, although I don’t feel remorse for killing him.

I feel guilt that Idon’t.

Still, I haven’t gone to seek Amaya out since. I haven’t given in.

And I know that I need to get rid of her permanently before I let my addiction to her overtake my entire life. I need to rip it out from the root, making sure it’s dead and gone.

But either way, that pathetic man deserved to die, and I’d do it again.

Amaya’s frazzled, her eyes wide and red- rimmed, and her hair is a tangled mess, like she’s been running her hand through the locks and tugging.

She’s upset.

My chest pulls.

“Amaya,” I soothe, taking another large step toward her, because I can’tnot.

My fingers tense, wanting to reach out and cup her cheek. I’d turn her face up to mine and force her to look me in the eyes. Then I’d soak in how warm her skin felt and how her pouty mouth would part in invitation if I tugged the smallest bit on her chin.

My cock twitches, and I slip my hands into my pockets instead.

She shakes her head, her gaze growing glossy. “I don’t know what to do or wh-where to go, and I know you’re not the person I should be coming to, but I don’thaveanyone else.”

Now it’s her who takes a step closer, and it’s so sudden that I panic, jerking back, pulling the scabs apart on a particularly nasty lash across my side. I can’t contain the sharp intake of breath.

Her eyes grow wide. “Are you okay?”

I shake off her concern. “It’s nothing.”

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” She points to the grimace on my face.

She takes another step forward and I react without thinking, reaching out and gripping her arm tightly. We both freeze when my touch registers, the air thickening around us until it chokes.

My hand wraps entirely around the bone of her wrist, fingertips meeting on either side, and I’m reminded of just how delicate and small she really is.

I could snap her in half with a simple flick. It would be easy.

As effortless as breathing.

Would she drop to her knees? Fall to the floor and beg for mercy?

I quite like that idea.

Her hand flexes as though she’s trying to either escape or move closer. Which one, I’m not sure. If she’s smart, she’d choose the former.

“Don’t,” I say, squeezing her close for a split second and then shoving her away roughly, ridding myself of the temptation to do more. My heart pounds as I imagine wrapping my fingers around her throat, just to see if it feels as vulnerable as the delicate feel of her wrist.

Would it be as easy to snap?

She shrinks back, almost like she can read my thoughts.

“Tell me what you need, or leave.”

She scoffs, rubbing her wrist and glaring at me. “I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”