Page 45 of The Ecstasy of Sin

GHOST

That girl from the clinic? You still trailing her?

ME

Yes. She’s mine.

GHOST

Does she know that?

ME

I told her, but I don't think she truly understands.Yet.

GHOST

Alright, psychopath.

Don’t get arrested doing whatever you’re doing.

I smirk, turning off my screen and putting my phone away. It’s a miracle I didn’t get caught beating my last victim to death, but I knew Ryker and his crew would have my back.

Killing that piece of shit was as easy as breathing. The pleasure of it was divine, and as I sat on his chest, soaked in his blood, it hit me—I could’ve found release right then and there, if I’d been evil enough to drag her over and fuck her in the pool of his still-warm blood.

I ached for the contrast. His agony, and her ecstasy.

I wanted him gasping for his last breath, drowning in his own suffering, while Wren’s body shook with euphoria from the force of an orgasm.

Fuck.The thought of it has my cock straining painfully against my zipper.

The pressure is so unbearable that for a moment, I contemplate going inside the building just to find her. Just as I’m pushing off the wall to do exactly that, the double doors open and my pretty little lamb steps outside.

The cool September breeze lifts her hair, those soft brown waves dancing around her delicate face. She pauses on the top step,scanning her surroundings like she’s searching for something: like she’s looking for me.

I take a step back, letting the shadows swallow me whole, when I hear a voice calling out her name. My eyes narrow as a man her age exits the building behind her, jogging to catch up with her as she hits the sidewalk.

She turns to face him, brushing the hair out of her face and tucking the wild strands behind her ears in an effort to tame them. He reaches out, placing his hand on her upper arm, and the white-hot burn of possessiveness sinks into me like a branding iron.

Wren smiles, and my fists clench.

She shakes her head in response to something he says. He keeps talking, and I feel like I’m simmering on an open fire. I can’t handle seeing his hand on her body, the need to remove it with a fucking axe is riding me hard.

It takes everything in me not to go over there and beat the fucking shit out of him for touching what’s mine. In the middle of the street, in the light of the setting sun, where everyone would witness my willing descent into madness.

She takes a step away from him, as if preparing to walk away, when his hand drops and he grabs her wrist to stop her retreat. His facial features shift, frustration and determination settling there.

I’m moving before I even realize what’s happening, but before I can get close enough to intervene, she pulls her arm out of his grasp. “I said no, Simon,” she snaps, before walking right past him and down the street.

A few people stop to stare at Simon as she walks away from him. He’s left standing there on the sidewalk with a grimace on his face, like the taste of rejection is foul on his tongue.

Embarrassment turns his cheeks and throat red, and the combination is a dangerous one. The look on his face is the kind men wear before they do something stupid. Like retaliate because they can’t handle rejection.

Hatred fills me like a rising tide, and I know within the breath of a second that I’m going to kill Simon. He will never touch her again, and he’ll die for even thinking he could.

He watches her as she disappears in the sea of pedestrians. Then something shifts in him, and I see the exact moment he decides to follow her.

A decision that makes my heart race with anticipation.