Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“I know,” he mutters, kicking the door shut behind us.
He sets me down against the bathroom mirror, my back smearing a wet streak of red across the glass.
“Sit fucking still,” Asher growls, and when I don’t, he grabs me by the throat and holds me there with a glare. “Gonna need you to calm your ass down.”
“You.” I pull in a hissing breath. “Shot me while you came!” The pain climbs hotter with every second. “Masochist!”
“Clearly!” His eyes go wide. “I’m in love with you.”
My mouth falls open. Did he just say that out loud, or am I starting to lose consciousness.
I hold my hand up in front of my face and squint. “One, two...” Cupboards open and slam, and I shift out of his way, giving up on the test to hold the wound at my side. Seems more important anyway.
I lower onto the edge of the bath, watching him flip open first aid kits.
“How’d you get the exact same spot?”
He doesn’t lose focus on what he’s doing. “What do you mean?”
He finds the right kit, muscles rippling as he tears it open.
Stay focused.
“You shot me.” Shit flies everywhere and we both ignore it. “In the same fucking spot, Asher!”
He digs the gauze and antiseptic off the floor, a pair of tweezers out of the tub.
“Here,” he mutters, kneeling in front of me, peeling my fingers off the wound, gentle even though I’m still pissed.
Air hits it and I hiss, wincing.
He ignores my pain, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad and cleaning the entry point. I let him move me however he needs while he inspects every part.
“You’re good at this,” I say, voice flat. “Almost like you’ve done it before.”
He catches the sarcasm, his mouth twitching. “Snowboarding’s a brutal sport. Fractures, gashes, concussions, you know.”
His hand closes around the tweezers, and I’m about to ask what the exact fucking plan is when the needle pinches my wound.
“Ash,” I heave, sweat dripping into my eyes, everything going dark at the edges. “Stop fucking around. There’s no gentle way to dig a bullet out.” Seconds that feel like minutes later, pressure pulls like a band around my belly, then he flashes the small metal nub with a smirk.
I glare at him.
He drops the bullet into the sink, finds a needle, and leans back in close.
I pull away. “Is this your first time on a girl?”
He threads the suture with one hand, the other steadying my skin. “If I said no, you gonna shoot her too?”
My eyes narrow, and he smirks up at me from below. “I’m playing, Venom.” When I won’t give him the satisfaction of letting it go, he grips my chin with his bloody hand and forces me into a kiss.
I melt, because I’m fucked. And weak.
Before I can recover, he pierces the skin with the sharp point of the needle. One stitch. Two. The thread pulls taut, sealing me shut.
“You wanna ask me something, just do it.” He doesn’t stop, his fingers working like it’s his job. “Don’t dance your sexy ass around the question.”
I reach out before he can finish, my fingers brushing the thin white line across his throat. It’s barely there, a shallow crescent from ear to ear.
He freezes, hands going still. “Ivy...”
“Nah uh...” I shake my head. “I’m done.”
His eyes fly to mine. “You don’t know what you’re doing...”
“I don’t?” I tilt my head. “Pretty sure you’re the one who just signed our death warrants...”
I drop my hand, but the contact lingers, electric on my skin.
“The bathroom’s safe. Punk left it out on purpose, but the rest of the house...” His pupils dilate. “She cracked the servers wide fucking open for him.”
“So they also witnessed what happened before,” I wave a hand around the room, “all of what just happened?”
Asher nods. “Yeah, and clearly our little plan wasn’t fucking working because we happened, so...”
His argument is valid. It took us less than ten minutes around each other for bullets to fly and bodies to drop. And that’s leaving out the sex.
“...so...” I whisper, gulping. “So now we’re fucked.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
IVY
PAST
“I know who Le Boucher Sans Loi is,” I say, my throat squeezing the words thin.
His whole body locks beneath my hands.
I keep my eyes on him. “I know who’s been hunting La Maison Du Mal for eleven years.”
Silence drags for several seconds before his mouth finally moves. “Who.”
Not so much a question more than it is a demand. I hold his stare anyway because I know. I know right now that it doesn’t matter what I was trained to do. I’d drop it all for him in a heartbeat. I’ve never been one to make the same mistake twice.
I clear my throat. “It’s Emeric, Asher, my boss.”
He stays fixed on me without a single flinch.
His head slowly shakes, whatever fight he’s having with himself slipping away as he lets out a lazy breath. “Emeric is one of the founding families of La Maison Du Mal, Ivy.”