Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Ollie groans as I move my hips. “You’re killing me, Ava.”
“I know.” I laugh, the sound eaten by the loud music before it dies on a hitch.
A stare.
No. A glare.
Cold, calculative, and entirely destructive eyes hold me hostage.
Like a million times before.
And like all of those times, my apprehension hasn’t reduced one bit. If anything, my awareness has gotten a lot more daring. Suffocating.
It’s impossible to figure out where he’s watching me from if he doesn’t make himself entirely visible. However, whether I see him or not, I’m extremely conscious of his presence.
Like a parasite. Or, more accurately, a high-tech security camera where I’m the sole focus.
Sweat trickles down my back and my skin heats in several orders of magnitude.
Instinctively, my hand drops from Ollie’s face, and my movements slow as I search the corners of the club. That’s where he always lurks, like a shadow, the darkness’s lord and master.
A fucking ghost.
I see him. And I wish I didn’t.
Eli King stands by the bar, nonchalantly leaning back, one hand nestling a drink and the other tucked in his pressed black trousers. He always wears something black. Like a gothic duke in a faraway castle. A step above Dracula and Satan’s favorite tutor. It fits with the sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and vile character.
His crisp white shirt highlights his broad shoulders and lean, muscled frame. The cuffs are slightly rolled, revealing a Patek Philippe watch that’s so expensive, it could buy everyone in this club. I know because I bought that watch. Got into shit with my dad about spending so much money as well. Seven years ago, I begged Nana to take me to Switzerland, we met a retired watch master, and I had to plead for weeks before he agreed to make that special edition.
Though Eli doesn’t know that tidbit. I made Aunt Elsa give it to him and swear to never tell him it was from me. So he thinks it was a gift from his mum for his twentieth birthday, which is probably why he always wears it.
Despite the shadows, the chaos, the noise, and the endless people separating us, I see him clearly. Too clearly. As if the world is transparent and he’s the only tangible being in its midst.
Eli King has been my damnation ever since I figured out what that word meant.
My nemesis.
The only man who’s immune to my charms.
If anything, he disregards them with cold indifference. Like right now.
His eyes exude a bottomless darkness, and their stormy gray color never rages or revolts. Never deviates from the coldness I faced the day he shattered my heart to pieces and stomped all over it.
“Turn around and remove your distasteful presence from my sight, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear your embarrassing confessions.”
His words still sting despite the years that have passed. Whoever said time heals everything has obviously never met Eli King.
He’s worse than an infected wound that’s refusing to heal and more brutal than a war without an end.
On the other hand, that terrible lapse in judgment on my part flipped my feelings for him upside down. I used to be blind, but now, I just loathe him.
I want to annoy him.
Tug any feelings out of him just to disrupt his day and destroy his carefully put-together life.
He watches me and I stare back, unwavering, even if I’m burned by that icy gaze, if I’m pulled apart and shattered to pieces, I’ll never back down in front of the prick.
Feeling particularly suicidal tonight, thanks to my spectacular failures and, possibly, the cocktail of drinks, I grab Ollie’s hands and place them on my bare sides again.
My skin doesn’t catch fire. I don’t break out in a sweat or experience the shattering sensation of mysterious eroticism.
But it’s good enough.
My arms wrap around Ollie’s neck and I dance slower than the rhythm, provocatively, swaying my hips, jutting my breasts. The music pulses through my body, the bass reverberating in my chest and making my heart race in a symphony of chaos and rebellion.
The feel of Eli’s eyes is a toxic elixir, swirling and bubbling within me, a concoction that promises a temporary escape from reality and a false sense of bliss.
Ollie matches my movements, touching, caressing, and falling completely into it, but my attention is not on him. I never break eye contact with the dilemma who’s leaning against the bar, eyes still detached and completely unaffected by my show.
So I snake my fingers into my hair, pulling it up, biting my lower lip while I stare into his black soul.
“Fuck you,” I mouth.
Then, and only then, does he show a reaction. The corner of his lip quirks up in the most amused, sadistic smile before he takes a generous sip from his drink.
Scotch. Malt. Straight.
I hate that I know all these details about him. I wish I could be hit with amnesia so I can just forget him, his favorite drink, his wardrobe choices, and his entire malicious personality.