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I stilled. “Why?” I asked, not remembering her wearing any bandages then. But it was winter, so long sleeves would’ve covered up the injury.
She shrugged. “Who knows?”
I sat up straight, pulling her closer to me. “So, why do you go by your sister’s initials?”
“Well, that’s how we knew my dad was wigging out.” She nodded. “He started calling me K.C., thinking I was my sister. We tried to correct him, but it was more trouble than it was worth. So my mother called me K.C. in his presence to avoid his outbursts.”
Fucking four-year-old little girl having to go through that. She must’ve been so confused.
“And then so did the rest of the family,” she continued. “And eventually it started happening at home as well. My father would get a little better, come home for short spells, and we’d carry on the charade there. The practice eventually just became habit.”
I ground my teeth together.
K. C. Carter was a dead little girl, and the woman in my lap was still living that lie. It pissed me off. She could’ve been someone different. Someone who knew herself and didn’t follow what her boyfriend or her parents wanted. Instead K.C. was fearful, timid, and unsure. Until recently, anyway.
“What’s your real name?” I pressed.
She grinned. “You’re going to laugh.”
The corner of my lips tipped up. “I won’t ever laugh at you,” I assured her. “Ever again, I mean.”
She rolled her eyes and then let out a tired sigh. “Juliet.” She winced, looking at me through embarrassed eyes. “Juliet Adrian Carter. My father liked Shakespeare, so he named my sister after the heroine in The Taming of the Shrew and me after … well, you know.”
I dipped my head into her neck. “Juliet.”
I felt her body shake with a shiver, and I threaded my fingers into her hair, nibbling her skin and eating up her scent.
“Jax, I can’t,” she breathed, placing her hands on my chest. “I … ,” she stammered, “I don’t exactly dislike you anymore, but this isn’t a good idea. As much as I’d like to give in, I can’t be that girl.”
“What girl?”
She stared at me. “A one-night stand.”
My fists tightened around her shirt. So that was what she thought I wanted?
My voice hardened. “What makes you think you’d be a one-night stand?”
“Because you’re Jared Trent’s brother. Because you’re young. Why would you want more?” she asked, her tone light. “I’m not trying to be prissy, okay? You get to me. I like the way you feel. I’m just not ready for this.” Her lips pursed, and she started to rise, but I pulled her back down.
“Ready for what?” I bit out, getting seriously fucking annoyed at her assumptions and the fact that she compared me to Jared. Two minutes ago she’d had her arms and legs wrapped around me.
Her eyebrows shot up, challenging me. “This,” she spat out, and dug into my pocket, pulling out my knife. “It’s been digging into the back of my thigh since I sat down. Why do you have so many computers? Why do the cops let you get away with anything? What do you do to make a living? And why do you carry a knife, Jax?”
My chest filled with delight at her anger. She was getting ballsier by the minute.
I shot her a smirk. “Because it’s quiet.”
And I almost laughed at her arched eyebrow. She was asking why I carried a knife, and I just answered why I carried a knife instead of a gun.
She averted her eyes, but I caught the annoyed expression as she raised the knife up to her face, studying it. She hit the button, and the blade shot out right between us.
I had only a moment to wonder what the hell she was doing before I reared back, seeing her jab the knife into my space.
“You think you scare me, don’t you?” she taunted, holding the blade to my neck, playing with me.
I sucked in a few quick breaths and let out a startled laugh as my heart slammed against my ribs. Well, this was new.
I swallowed, meeting her triumphant little smile and leaning into the blade, feeling the sharp, cool steel bite into my neck. “You want to play? You don’t know how to play my games, Juliet.”
And I snatched the knife out of her scared hand and brought it down to the hem of her shirt, slicing it up the middle.
“Jax!” she screamed, fumbling with her now useless T-shirt as I threw the blade onto the floor. “What are you doing?”
Grabbing her around the waist, I stood up, whipped her around, and planted her in front of the window looking down onto the backyard full of partiers.
I wrapped my arms around her shaking body and growled into her ear from behind her, “God, Juliet. You think I just wanna fuck? You think I wanna keep myself hidden and mysterious, because it’s my play to get women into bed? Huh?” I pressed. “No, baby. I could fuck ten different girls tonight if I wanted to. I don’t want to do that.”
Her chest shook, and she squirmed against me, probably scared that we could be seen out the window.
“So, what do you want?” she cried. “If not a one-night stand?”
I closed my burning eyes, and buried my lips in her hair. “I want to terrorize you,” I confessed. “I want to cut you without drawing blood. I want to break you.” I pulled her into me. “And then I want to fuck you.”
From the moment I laid eyes on her, I had wanted to break her out of her shell. I wanted to see her undone, and I wanted to take her over. For how long, I didn’t know, but I knew it would be for more than one night.