Page 35 of Malicious Claim (Dark Inheritance #1)

Loaded Choices

LEILA'S POV

The club was too loud, too suffocating, but all I could hear was the silence after I drenched Makros with the champagne bottle.

Caterina leapt back, her smirk faltering. The entire room had turned to us, eyes flicking between him and me, waiting to see what he would do.

Makros stood stock-still, dripping champagne, his expression blank. Then—he laughed.

A low, chuckling laugh, as if I'd just done something funny instead of launching my fury at his face. He stroked his wet hair back, eyes glinting with something nasty.

"Well," he breathed, his voice steel and silk. "That was interesting."

My heart pounded. My hands ache from clenching the bottle too hard.

"Don't you dare feign amusement," I snarled.

He smiled. "Or what? You'll break the bottle over my head this time?"

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I turned on my heel, ready to storm out of there. But I only got two steps before his fingers wrapped around my wrist, holding me back.

"We're leaving together love," he said, his voice hard and low.

I struggled against his grip, but it was of no use. Makros did not drag me.

He had no reason to do so. As his hand seared into my skin, I knew that I would comply.

"Catherina nice to see you again," he stated as he took us away but I suppose she was too stunned to respond.

Eyes burned into my back as we left the club. The heat of the room clung to me even when we stepped outside into the cool night air.

When we got to the main house, the storm raging in me had only gotten worse.

The second the bedroom door shut behind us, it exploded.

"You smug, arrogant bastard."

I pushed Makros the moment we were alone, but he barely lost his balance. He only loosened his tie and rolled his shoulders as if this was another argument, another fight.

I hated him for being so composed. Hated him that he could smile like this was a game of some kind.

"You embarrassed me," I said brusquely.

Makros raised an eyebrow. "Embarrassed, who?" He waved at himself, still covered in champagne. "You humiliated me before all those important guests."

"You let her put her hands on you," I snarled. "In front of me."

He smiled, like I'd confirmed his argument. "You're jealous."

"I'm not," I said too hastily.

"Liars respond that way when they're nervous," he counted, drawing near.

The worst of it, he was right. I'd hated the twisting in my gut when I caught sight of Caterina on him and had hated the crumpling in my fists over the way he let her act as if she still mattered to him.

I breathed deep, trying to shake out the heat running up my spine.

I shifted away from him, my eyes landing on the nightstand, at the gun sitting there.

My heart pounded. I didn't think so. I just reacted.

In one motion, I took the gun, turned, and aimed it at his head.

The world slowed down.

Makros's face went rigid, but only for like two seconds.

Then, in wonder, he started walking forward, and again, and again, till the chill metal of the barrel rested against his forehead.

"Go on," he breathed, his voice husky but contemptuous. "Kill me."

My hands trembled.

I could. I should.

I wanted to.

But I pulled the trigger on the wall instead, and it erupted with a deafening roar.

My chest heaved, anger gnawing at me. I clenched my jaw, screwed up my eyes—then, cursing, I threw the gun on the bed. I stepped back from him.

Makros laughed.

"It was loaded this time, but you couldn't do it," he said.

"Shut up," I snarled.

But he was already advancing on me, his hand out, lifting my chin. His skin burned, intimate and maddening.

"You wanted to," he whispered, eyes aglow. "That's enough for now."

I hated him.

I hated how right he was. when he leaned in, I should have shoved him away. Should have slapped him.

Instead, I let him kiss me, and kissed him back.

Fury and passion coiled together, and for a crazed second, I didn't care which of them burned hotter.

Makros didn't kiss as if he was testing boundaries. He kissed as if he'd already surpassed them.

His fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back as his lips pushed hard against mine. There was no tenderness to it—just heat, hunger, and rebuke.

I bit down on his lip. Hard.

He growled, a harsh sound from the back of his throat. His hand closed tighter, pulling until I gasped.

"You want to fight me?"

His voice was silk over steel, his breath against my skin. "Fine. But you know how it ends, don't you?" He pushed me aside. My heels met with the edge of the bed, I couldn't regain my balance before he was on top of me, his weight pinning me down.

I shoved against his chest, but he captured my wrists and pinned them over my head in one swift motion.

My breath filled the room in staccato, jagged gasps.

"You were going to kill me a minute ago," he breathed, his body holding me in place. "Now you can't decide if you want to scratch out my eyes or keep on kissing me."

I growled, baring my teeth. "Maybe both."

Makros laughed, deep and content. "That's my girl."

His grip on my wrists tightened as he ground his hips against mine, making me gasp. He swallowed the sound, his eyes burning with triumph.

"You hate me," he whispered, lips brushing my jaw, my throat. "But you keep coming back."

I hated him. I hated him so much. But I arched into him anyway.

Makros left no space for me to think, to breathe, only pressure, heat, and the weight of him on top of me. His hands released my wrists only to wrap around my hips, pinning me down as if he could keep me stuck in this world and make me accept what was already happening between us.

I thrashed beneath him, a useless, desperate struggle at resistance, but he merely laughed, low and knowing.

"You fight me, yet you enjoy how I take possession of your body," he grunted against the skin of my throat, teeth grazing and teasing. "Tell me I am wrong."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to say anything.

His hand slid lower, fingers digging in as he wrenched my thighs apart, sliding one under my undergarments. My breath caught in my chest, body betraying me, and Makros—a predatory soul through and through, felt it instantly.

"Here she is." His voice was a malevolent growl, weighted with satisfaction. "You were never going to kill me, Leila. You can't even control your wetness when I—"

I silenced his growl with my teeth, sinking them hard into the thick muscle of his shoulder.

The taste of his skin, the way he hissed my name through clenched teeth, it only made me bite harder.

Makros snarled, his body jerking beneath me, but he didn’t push me away. He welcomed the pain. Fed off it.

With a rough grip, he yanked down his zipper, freeing himself.

No warning. No teasing. Just the brutal press of his cock slamming into me—thick, unforgiving, stretching me until I gasped against his skin.

The fabric of my clothes was still in the way, dragged up just enough to let him in, but not enough to dull the raw drag of him inside me.

Every inch a demand. Every thrust was a punishment I craved.

My heart pounded in my brain, obliterating everything except the friction, the heat, the desperate hunger I refused to admit.

I hated him. I wanted him.

He gripped my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes blazed, dark with hunger and something else—something hostile.

"Say my name," he snarled.

I shook my head.

Makros' grip became tighter. He drove his hips deeper and harder, ripping a strangled gasp from my mouth.

"Say it."

I gritted my teeth, refusing.

He sneered, kissing me hard before jerking me all the way underneath him. then he made me say it. Again. And again.

Until I snapped. Until my body betrayed me completely, spasming around him as he rode me over, the sound of his name torn from my throat on a raw, helpless scream.

Makros rode me down, his teeth gritted on my skin as he climaxed.

For a moment, it was only the sound of our breathing, his weight pressing me into the mattress. Then his mouth touched the curve of my ear, his voice still rough, still condescending.

"You were never going to kill me, Amore mio ."

I lay there, glaring up at him even as my own body still trembled under him. "Don't be so sure. I just want it done with my favorite gun."

Makros grinned, biting my lower lip, before he pulled back. "And your favorite gun, bella ?"

"A golden revolver."

Makros chuckled as he drew a knuckle down my neck. "A golden revolver?" he murmured, his head tilted to face me. "So, you'd love to kill me in a grand style?"

"When I kill you Makros, I'd carve out your dick and preserve it. How's that for a grand styles?"

His hand drifted down, tracing the line of my collarbone before burrowing into my shoulder. "Shit, never knew the dick was that good. I mean, I know, but damn, to preserve it."

I laughed, attempting to put some space between us, but he wouldn't release me. Instead, he caught my chin in his fingers, forcing me to look up at him.

"You could have done it tonight," he whispered, his eyes dark and unfathomable. "I gave you the perfect chance."

I swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge the reality that we both understood. Instead, I lifted my chin defiantly. "I will create my own chance, after you've fallen neck deep for me, and you won't see me coming."

Makros laughed, full and rich, and the sound irritated me as much as it sent a shiver down my spine.

" Bella ," he whispered, brushing his lips against mine again. "Your mouth is going to get you into trouble."

I scowled at him. "Only if you live long enough to do anything about it."

His smile was pure amusement, but beneath it—something darker. He rolled off me, at last letting me breathe, but before I could roll away, he caught my wrist and brought it to his lips, kissing the inner surface of my palm.

"Then I'll have to make sure I stay alive," he whispered against my skin, "just to see if you ever pull the trigger."

I hated him.

But I despised myself even more.