Page 87 of From Hell

Jaxon escorts me to the private toilets that come with the VIP area. It’s dimly lit inside, but there’s enough light to see. Obsidian urinals line one side, and smoked glass door cubicles the other.

In the amber glow of the old-fashioned lamps, I see myself in the rustic glass mirrors designed to soften your rough edges, and I don’t look like me. The blonde wig and blood spatter all over like demonic freckles have me as someone much more cold and calculated.

I didn’t kill Christian. Though, he’s still dead. That makes me an accessory. Is that a bad thing? He’s a murderer and a rapist. Didn’t I want him gone?

Jaxon gives me one look over as if burning every inch to memory. “Did he hurt you? If he did you, he’s fucked.”

“Isn’t he already fucked?”

“There are other things I can do to a man than kill him,” he says nonchalantly. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He whips out a handkerchief from his immaculate suit pocket and runs it under the tepid, cold water. Jaxon cleaning me up is where I draw the line.

“I can do it.” I snatch it from him before he can try, wiping the blood off my face as much as possible while he watches. There’s an amused twitch to his lips, so I focus on my reflection in the mirror.

It was hot, the spray of blood when it hit me, like being baptized with the waters of Hell. I should be shaking after what I saw Jaxon do, but I’m not. The woman in the glass is calm and collected. Cleaning off the blood is methodical, a ritual burned into my bones.

Inside…I’m coming undone.

“That bloody dress is coming off.”

I stop and give him a wide-eyed look through the mirror. “You want me to strip here?”

He eyes me like I’m being difficult. “There can be no blood or evidence leaving this club, and since you’re covered in it…”

Heat stains my cheeks. I’m not wearing a bra since one wouldn’t fit under the dress. Getting naked in front of Jaxon is the last thing I want to do. “I’m not undressing here. Someone might see,” I hiss.

“The VIP area has been cleared, and the cameras switched off. No one will see except for me. Unless you’re embarrassed about that?”

Nothing has happened between us yet…if you don’t count Jaxon’s mouth between my legs at Henry’s funeral and at his house. And I don’t. I couldn’t fully enjoy it, given where we were and what I was feeling at the time.

But I’m not embarrassed. I’m broken.

I know he’s a killer; I have seen him slice open Christian’s throat like it was nothing. But that hasn’t stopped me from wanting him to fuck me silly until I can’t walk. I feel frozen because of it.

When I don’t budge, he holds his hand for my dress. “Off. I need to burn it.”

Grimacing, I start the zipper on my dress, my heart choosing at that moment to throw itself against my ribcage. The cool air kisses my skin as I slide the dress down my waist and over my hips until I’m standing in nothing but my panties, hands clenched at my thighs. Call it defiance, but I don’t want to cover my breasts. It’s like admitting he’s right.

“Those too.”

I follow his line of sight to my thong. “There’s no blood on these.”

“Better to be safe. Now off, or shall I take them off for you?” he asks, voice dangerously soft.

“Why are you fully dressed?”

His eyes narrow, but a smirk tugs at his lips. “Because I didn’t get covered in blood.”

He’s right. His suit is immaculate. The thought that he planned this and made me step in front of Christian, for this reason, makes my blood turn to sticky hot syrup.

Slowly, I peel off my pants. His gaze is hungry, devouring every inch. While my skin is hot, pulse pounding in my ears.

He waits an entire minute, hands in pockets, as cool and casual as a magazine cover model, a slow smile gracing his lips, before shrugging off his jacket and placing it around my shoulders.

The material is soft, brushing over my bare skin. So much so that I gasp when he yanks me toward him by the front of the jacket. “You’re fucking beautiful when you’re flushed.” His mouth bruises mine in an indecent kiss, tongue teasing, burning my lips with the taste of him.

My nerves fray when his mouth travels down the side of my neck and he licks. “You missed a spot,” he drawls.

Did he just lick a drop of Christian’s blood off me?