Violence (Antihero Inferno #3) - Lily White Page 0,91

her because I thought the truth would rip her apart.

Now, I’m not so sure.

This moment is dangerous for both of us. I can’t claim my body isn’t reacting to touching her, and I’m very aware of how my fingers curl on her waist with the need to clamp down and hold her in place.

It’s taking all the self-control I have to be this close and not take what I want from her body, to not pin her down while I take my time to lick and bite and taste.

I whisper instead because I have to keep myself focused so that I don’t lose control and lose myself into a woman I hate as much as I crave.

“Tell me what you want to know.”

Her body shivers, and I swallow down a groan to feel it.

My hungry gaze traces the shape of her full mouth as she chews at her bottom lip. It’s a nervous habit I’m not sure she knows about, but one I’ve always noticed and appreciated.

“Where were you taken?” she asks, her voice breathless and demure, her round eyes flicking up to meet mine.

I study the dark color of her thick lashes, so long the tips brush her skin.

Emily doesn’t blink, doesn’t dare look away from the threat staring her down.

“To a warehouse.”

“Your dad’s?”

“No.”

“Someone else’s?”

I breathe her in, lean in to rub my cheek against hers.

“Yes.”

A light scraping sound catches my attention. I look down to where her hand touches the door. Emily’s fingers curl so slowly that her nails are scratching the wood.

“Where’s the warehouse?”

My eyes lift back to hers, my hand lifting so I can tangle my fingers with the end of her long red hair, giving it a quick, playful tug.

Emily’s eyes soften to pure liquid, a sea that is still calm despite the storm fast approaching.

“Is this your next question? You should be careful what you ask and how you ask. You only have two left.”

The back of my hand brushes the side of her breast on accident. Still, we both react, my body growing hard as hers melts with compliance.

I press my mouth to her ear. “Answer me.”

“No,” she says before clearing her throat in an attempt to add more strength to her words. “That’s not my question.”

Another pause, and I swear I can hear her thoughts rising and falling, one question switched for another and another and another, until she settles on one.

“The bruises. Who gave them to you?”

“Which bruises? There were always so many.”

Her nails scratch against the door harder.

A momentary pause, Emily’s breath held, her eyes blinking slowly as she turns her head to speak against my cheek.

“All of them?”

Her answer makes me laugh.

“Nice try, killer. You’ll need to be more specific than that.”

“The ones I first saw. The ones I kissed when you first showed me-“

I press my thumb to her lips, partly because of the memory she’s dredging up, but mostly because I can’t help myself.

Blinking her eyes rapidly, Emily shudders. She’s fighting something.

Anger, from what I can feel of the energy rolling off her. Desire, if the way her body molds to mine means anything. Violence, if the quick, hard scratch of her nails against the door is any indication.

Keeping my voice soft so she doesn’t hear the truth of what I’m fighting, I study her face while giving my answer.

“Those bruises were from William.”

This would be a good place for her to confess what she’s doing around my father. Now that she knows he was hands on in what happened to us. The ringleader, really.

Emily says nothing on that subject.

It only pisses me off more.

“Why?” she asks, tears shimmering in her eyes, her lips moving against the soft press of my thumb.

I ignore the rage simmering in my blood at her refusal to admit what she’s doing. Ignore the whispers of memory.

Be a man!

Is that what I taught you?

Get the fuck up!

“Is that your third question?”

“Yes,” she says, then shakes her head. “I mean, no.”

Pure frustration rolls across her expression as she reaches up to grab my wrist and tug my hand from her face.

We stand silently, our shoulders moving with our breath, our chests pressed together and our legs tangled.

Between us, Emily’s fingers grip my wrist, her thumbnail pressing into my skin.

It causes just enough pain to snap me out of the fascination I have with her mouth so that my eyes lock with hers.

A grin tugs at my lips, half amusement at her frustration and half mockery because I’m intentionally causing her distress with vague