Page 17

Malik

The scent of cedar body wash clings to my skin, loose linens hanging off my frame as I sit in the driver’s seat of Dante’s truck, twirling a small pocketknife between my fingers. Dante’s inside the precinct, dealing with Harley about the latest Reaper kill, insisting we stop here first before checking on Sparrow.

I’m not sure why we couldn’t have seen Sparrow first.

Just thinking about her has me shifting in my seat, reaching down to stroke my cock through my pants. I fucking need to see her, to see that she’s okay. I also just want her in my sights, want to imagine her covered in blood as I slip inside of her sweet little pussy and hear my name on her tongue. Knowing that Dante has had some part of that doesn’t make me jealous. It just makes me want it that much more.

Dante showed me the text from her an hour ago: a curt, I’m okay , but it’s not enough. Nothing’s enough until I see her, touch her, smell that spiced coconut scent that haunts my dreams.

I spin the knife a bit faster, thinking about little cuts and knicks and where I could put them on her pretty little body. I think about the way she’d scream or the way she’d ask for more. Her moans. Her whispers and needy whines.

I start bouncing my leg, my pulse kicking up as I continue thinking about my sparrow, my mind pulling me in an uncomfortable direction the longer I sit in this parking lot. It feels like a trap, like the cops are gonna swarm any second, drag me in for the shit I’ve done. Never done a legal thing in my life, except maybe medical school, and even then, I cut corners, stole cadavers, fudged exams, fucked my way to passing grades.

Dante said to wait, and for once, I’m trying to listen, trying not to let the chaos in my head spill out. But it’s so fucking hard when all I can think about is her.

A sharp knock on the window snaps me out of it, and I freeze, the knife pausing mid-twirl. It’s Xavier, one of Harley’s old partners, a sleazy fuck with a smirk that makes my blood boil. He used to hover around Sparrow, trying to get her attention, and when she shut him down, he’d spit nasty jokes about her, calling her a tease, a slut, worse. I hate him more than Harley, more than anyone, because he looked at her like she was meat, not a goddess. Rolling down the window, I frown up at him, my grip tightening on the knife. “What do you want, Xavi?”

Xavier leans in, his eyes glinting with malice. “I’m surprised you remember my name,” he says. “Haven’t seen you around lately. Surprised you got let out of your cage. What are you doing here?”

A grin splits across my face as I twirl the knife again. “I’m on a field trip to see my sparrow,” I mention.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he snaps, then shakes his head. “Don’t answer that. I’m guessing you’re here with Dante, which means Harley’s doing some crack police work again.”

Shrugging, I let my gaze drift to the precinct, the knife spinning faster, my patience thinning. I’m about to tune him out but Xavier keeps talking, his grating voice digging under my skin. “You wouldn’t know anything about these murders, would you?”

My eyes snap back to him. “Why, should I?”

He leans closer, his hand resting on the window frame. “Stop the innocent act. We both know you’re fucked in the head.”

“That isn’t something I hide,” I laugh. “Is there something you want to accuse me of, officer?”

Xavier pats the window before pulling back. “I’m just having a friendly conversation.”

“It doesn’t feel friendly,” I growl out, my fingers itching to drive the knife into something. His hand, his face, anything . “Excuse me. I have somewhere to be.”

Opening the door, I swing it hard, nearly clipping Xavier as he stumbles back farther, his eyes flashing with anger. “If I wasn’t sure, I’d think you were trying to hurt me.”

“Just trying to get out of the car, officer.”

Refusing to catch Xavier’s next retort, I slip down the strip of businesses, heading straight for the little boutique. Dante will just have to forgive me. My eyes lock on Selene through the glass as I approach the shop, her silver hair catching the fluorescent lights like a beacon. She’s got that fake customer service smile, showing off some product to a middle-aged woman, her high ponytail swinging, her crop top dipping just low enough to tease, earrings glinting with every turn. It’s a pretty picture but it’s not enough. Hunger claws at my gut, a need for more, for her blood, her screams, her body under mine. Sparrow, my sparrow, the Reaper who paints with death, is a goddess, and I’m starving for her.

The bell jangles as I step inside. I ignore the lady at the front, growling at her chirpy greeting before refocusing on my goddess. She finishes with the customer and then moves toward the back of the boutique, weaving through the shelves. Slipping to the side, I follow at a distance, staying out of sight every time she glances back.

She’s mumbling to herself, words too soft to catch, her fingers trailing over products. Pausing at a display, she picks up a crimson lipstick and leans into a small mirror, swiping it across her lips. The color’s perfect: dark and rich like blood, my cock twitching as I imagine those lips on my chest, my shoulders, wrapped around my dick, leaving smears of red. She turns into another aisle and I move to the lipstick display, eyeing the shades but ultimately focusing on the same one she picked up.

I stare in silence for several seconds before someone approaches me. “Can I help you?”

Nodding, I point to the crimson shade. “Wanted to buy this one.”

“Crimson Taint?” the woman asks, grabbing the tube. “Definitely our best seller. Come on, I’ll ring you up.”

Crimson, just like my favorite color, the shade of my sparrow’s kills, her fire. My fingers close around the lipstick, the purchase a tether to her, but as I head for the counter, her laugh cuts through the air, pulling me back like a leash.

Can’t leave, not yet.

The woman rings me up, albeit not fast enough, and then I dash back through the aisles, following that cackle that already has me hard. It’s coming from the stockroom, a place I know I’m not supposed to be but I can’t resist my need to see her up close. Carefully, I push inside, the cramped space shrouded by towering boxes.

It takes me a minute to find my prize but there she is, Selene bent over a few boxes, sorting through some of the products, her crop top riding up and exposing the curve of her waist. I hurry over and press up against her ass, pinning her to the wall of boxes, my body flush with hers as I murmur into her ear. “Sparrow, I had to see you.”

She gasps as her body tenses, gearing up to shove me off. “Where the fuck is my hammer?” That’s not what I expected her to ask, but she’s talking to me and I call that a win.

“It’s safe,” I purr, my hands sliding to her hips, holding her in place. “I’d never let anyone hurt you. Who’s Annabella?”

She grunts, a flash of confusion in her stormy gray eyes as she twists around to try and see me. I curse under my breath, realizing I’ve slipped, mentioned something I shouldn’t know. “Sorry,” I murmur, my lips brushing her ear again, my cock hardening against her ass. “I just needed to see you. One day, you’ll let me kiss you, taste you.”

A huff escapes her, but she doesn’t pull away, her body softening just a fraction. My thumb reaches around her to trace her bottom lip, the crimson lipstick smudging against the pad of my finger as her tongue darts out to taste my skin. Then she slowly sucks the digit into her mouth, her lips closing around my thumb, and I groan, rocking myself against her ass. It’s fucked-up, doing this in the stockroom, surrounded by boxes, her coworkers just beyond the door, but the risk only sharpens the need. I want her so fucking bad; I want her blood, her screams, her everything .

Her hips push back, meeting my rhythm, her breath hitching as I grind harder, my free hand sliding under her crop top, fingers grazing her skin. My knife’s in my pocket, a temptation to draw it, to nick her skin, mix her blood with the crimson on her lips. But I hold back, my control fraying. My free hand starts to move south, fingers fiddling with the button of her pants.

Her hand grabs my arm, nails digging into my flesh as my thumb falls from her lips. “What the fuck are you doing?” It’s like she hits a bout of sudden clarity, realizing that she doesn’t actually know the man behind her, but that makes it more fun.

“I want to taste you, Sparrow,” I say, before licking up the side of her neck, savoring the mixture of salt and coconut on her skin. She lets out a wanton moan, her head tilting just enough to give me access, but then her voice cuts through the moment.

“I’m really over guys taking what they want from me.”

She bucks against my hold, her elbow jabbing hard into my gut. A wild grin splits across my lips as I clutch my stomach, already about to step forward again when a searing pain explodes in my thigh. My eyes drop to the sensation, a small knife lodged in my leg, blood seeping through my pants, a perfect little gift from her. As much as I want to stay and play with her, I can tell that this isn’t the time or place.

Besides, I got what I came for. My sparrow is okay.

Before she can do more damage, I scramble for the back exit, mumbling to myself. “Didn’t know my sparrow was so feisty. I like her. Can’t wait to play again.”

I yank the little knife from my flesh, groaning as the blood trickles down my leg. Medical training tells me I should have left it in but hobbling down the sidewalk with a knife in my leg isn’t an option. People will ask questions and then they’ll take my sparrow away from me, and that can’t happen.

I round the corner, eyes widening as Dante comes into view. “Told you to stay in the fucking car,” he snaps, his gaze firmly focused on my face. I hide the knife behind my back and twist just enough so that Dante doesn’t see the crimson stain growing across my dark pants. “Look, just go sit in the car. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

I don’t fight him, just nodding as I make a beeline back to Dante’s car and slip into the front seat. Blood’s soaking my pants now, a pretty stain spreading as I stare at the knife, a memento from my sparrow. I’m gonna treasure it, keep it close, maybe press it to my lips later, taste the blood we share.

Slowly, I lift the knife to my lips and then drag my tongue across the blade, imagining it being her blood I’m tasting, a mixture of copper and coconut. My nostrils flare as I reach down to grab my cock, playing into this fantasy of her moans and screams before I’m edging myself right off the cliff with no return.

In my head, she’s writhing beneath me, yelling for more, harder, faster, deeper. And I’m giving it to her as she bleeds so prettily over my white sheets. I’ll mark her and make her mine, let her ache and remember just who gave them to her.

A guttural groan tears from my throat as I fall apart, coming in my pants, my head falling back against the headrest. Soon, that will be my cock inside of her. For now, I’ll have to be happy with my fantasies.