Deviant King (Royal Elite #1) - Rina Kent Page 0,15
tears.
It’s the memories surrounding the surgery — or the lack thereof.
The reason I hate the scar so much isn’t because of the surgery or the non-aesthetic appearance.
It’s because the scar is a reminder that everything before it is blank.
All I have left are nightmares and phobias and a distant reminder that I once had parents.
The scar represents that missing part of me.
Before I can try to seal those emotions into their dark box, Aiden bites on the flesh of my breast. I cry out as his teeth sink into the skin and then he sucks and bites along the scar with such animosity that leaves me breathless.
And terrified.
It’s like he wants to bite the skin off.
Unleash those memories.
The nightmares.
The smoke and the flames.
And the blood… so much fucking blood.
“Aiden, s-stop.”
He doesn’t.
He continues feasting on my skin like he’s a cannibal.
Everything will be out.
All of it.
This can’t be happening.
“Stop!” My lips tremble as tears fall down my cheeks.
Aiden lifts his head. He stares at my face, at my tears, and the expression of hate that must be written all over my face.
His features are expressionless.
Closed.
Impassive.
“Good girl.”
He finally lets me go. The space between my legs feels kind of strange when he removes his hand. My shoulders ache from how he locked my wrists behind my back.
I expected him to step back and leave me be.
But Aiden never acts like you expect him to.
His upper body leans over and he darts his tongue out.
Aiden licks the tears falling down my right cheek. My skin turns hot and cold at the same time.
He moves to the left cheek, taking his time in tasting my tears.
When he pulls back, he doesn’t appear as shocked as I feel.
However, his devil mask slips.
I get my first glimpse at the real Aiden.
The one he hides behind the smiles. The true form.
If the smirk on his face and the manic look in his eyes are any indication, then the fucking psycho enjoyed licking my tears.
A phone rings, startling me out of my stupor.
He checks it and sighs like someone is ruining his fun.
He gives me one last, unreadable look. “Be smart and stop making stupid moves.”
More tears continue falling down my cheeks as I watch his stupid tall frame disappear behind the trees.
I turn in the opposite direction and run.
Chapter Five
Running in the rain steals my breath.
Ruins it.
Smashes it.
Nearly eradicates it.
When I arrive home, my soaked clothes are stuck to my skin. My shoes are slouching. My toes are cold and stiff.
Erratic strands of my hair stick to my temples and forehead, dripping all over me.
I stand in our small garden, catching my breath, and press a shaky palm to my chest.
My heart’s palpitations grow uneven and out of beat as if protesting. I close my eyes and tip my head back, letting the rain beat down on me.
Soak me.
Rinse me.
The droplets pound on my closed lids almost like a soothing caress.
I’ve always loved the rain.
The rain camouflaged everything.
No one saw the tears. No one noticed the shame or the humiliation.
It was just me, the clouds, and the pouring water.
But that’s the thing about the rain, isn’t it? It’s only a camouflage, a temporary solution.
It can only rinse the outside. It can’t seep under my skin and wash away my shaky insides.
Wiping away my memories isn’t an option either.
It’s been barely an hour since Aiden had his hands on me – all over me.
I can still feel it.
His breath.
His nearness.
His psychotic eyes.
I lock the encounter deep in the darkness of my head and trudge to the entrance. I need to change before I catch a cold.
Our house sits in a cosy upper-middle class neighbourhood. It’s two-storey and with more rooms than we need. The three of us did everything to make it as homey as possible. We planted an orange tree. A few roses. Uncle and I made sure to take care of the gardening ourselves — but lately he doesn’t have time to.
My movements are numb as I hit the code and step inside.
The interior design has been carefully picked by Aunt Blair. Despite being minimalist, it’s classy and modern. The lounge area has dark blue and beige sofas. The bookshelves are also dark blue with a touch of strength that doesn’t only represent Uncle Jaxon’s alpha character, but also Aunt Blair’s.
Not bothering to open the tall, french windows, I drag my numb feet upstairs.
Aunt and Uncle wouldn’t be around until late at night. The more their company grows, the less I see of them.