Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“Turned myself into the cops.”
“What?” I asked, completely stunned.
He snuffled out a laugh. “I know. Me, working with the authorities. What the fuck, right? Worked with the FBI a while, and if I delivered what I promised, I earned complete immunity and got to come back to you. That was the deal.” He paused. “I didn’t think it’d take as long as it did. I was arrogant, thinking I’d wrap shit up within a year.” He scoffed. “The first year was the hardest. I got nowhere fast. No leads, no resources. The only two people who knew I was alive were the two people who helped me become dead. Slept on the street, stole what I needed, and lived off garbage at one point. Sometimes I’d throw a shit-fit and give up, plan on staying dead. But...” He closed his eyes then peered at me tiredly. “I’m selfish, baby. Needed to be with my son. Needed to come home to you.”
He leaned back on the step, resting on his elbows, looking out into the yard. “No one was taking your crown. Not on my watch. I forged you a throne, angel, and I made it from the bloody, mutilated corpses of every fucker who got in my way, leave you sitting pretty in a pool of blood, wearing a crown of thorns.” He smirked, then his voice filled with reverence. “My queen.”
My stomach clenched. That should not have lit a fire inside me. Jesus Christ, I was a fucking freak.
“No one was getting to you, to my boy. Use my body as a shield. Cut me open. Bleed me dry.” He shook his head slowly. “Not happening.”
I had so many questions. I don’t know why I chose the one I did. “What happened to your tattoo?”
I didn’t need to specify. The iconic 13 I’d come to love no longer graced the apple of his cheek. In its place was a scar. The scar I’d witnessed him receiving at eight years old when we were children, brought together for one short night, destined to meet again as lovers, and although I didn’t know it at the time, I needed him.
He was a fire so hot his flame turned blue. And I wanted to be burned over and over again, smiling through the pain and begging for more.
I was clearly a masochist, but sometimes you needed to bleed to be reminded that you were still alive. And Twitch made me bleed, oozing red warmth until my heart stopped, and every time he killed me, I was revived with a single kiss.
His love was deadly, and I didn’t want the antidote.
Twitch peered at me a long moment. “A little give, a little take. You know how it works, baby. I gave a little, so now it’s your turn. You give me what I want, and I’ll answer your questions.”
Immediately weary, I let out a hushed, “What do you want?”
His voice rough, he named it. “I want you to touch me.”
When I rolled my eyes and moved to stand, his warm hand closed around my wrist, pulling me back down. “Not like that. I mean anywhere. Anywhere you want. Just—” His voice was low, coarse. “—touch me, baby.”
It sounded so innocent, but I knew Twitch, and nothing about him was innocent. To believe he were capable of anything so pure was foolish. But I wanted to touch him.
I inwardly sighed. I loathed that I lived for affection. Something as basic as a simple touch was so important to me. It could convey messages untold, and right now, the need Twitch wore on his fatigued face told me he needed it.
Shuffling over, he waited patiently as I lifted my right hand and brought it to his face, gently cupping his cheek. The moment my fingers came into contact with his warm skin, his eyes closed of their own accord and I watched him take in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, savoring my touch.
The affect I had on him filled me with sudden power, and I reveled in his relaxed state.
Placing my other hand to his neck, I scraped my fingernails over the neatly trimmed scruff, celebrating the way his face wore a look of pure rapture, and spoke quietly, “Tell me.”
He made a sound low in his throat. “It was too obvious a marker. The FBI made me laser it off.” He groaned quietly as my hand slid down to his shoulder, lightly kneading the knot I found, and he spoke through an exhale, “Thought about you every second, every day.”
I wanted to climb into his lap and beg for a single kiss. “Where do we go from here?” Then, even more quietly, “How do we move on?”
His hooded gaze landed on me, and his response was as soft as his whiskey voice would allow. “Very fuckin’ slowly.”