idiot she’s ever seen.
“You bring home the hitman, huh?” Preacher’s gaze now falls on me. I shrug and grab my smoke back.
“She’s got a good ass,” I tell him. Silla rolls her eyes, turns around and shakes her ass on Preacher’s cock while I watch. Any other man, I’d probably snap his neck, so Preacher is a lucky bastard tonight.
“Get your ass in the house,” I growl low in my throat. She starts to walk away, blowing me a kiss over her shoulder as she goes. Preacher just laughs.
“Jesus, Grave. Got your hands full with that one.”
“No shit. We good on tomorrow then?” He nods his head, but he looks off in the distance.
“I don’t like not tellin’ Psycho though, man. He’s a goddamn mess,” he says, never looking over at me.
“I know but we can’t risk him changin’ the way he acts just because he knows I’m alive, yeah? I want this shit to be a fuckin’ surprise. That’s the point,” I remind him.
“Heard that. I ain’t sayin’ shit. I’m headin’ in to sleep. This thirty minutes of sleep is bullshit.”
“You were trained for that shit. Get over it.” I slap a hand on his shoulder and head back inside with him right behind me. I trail down the hallway passing by other rooms on the way to mine. Shoving the door open, I step in and gasp. Silla is standing there, in front of the mirror over the dresser, naked. She looks at herself, disgust all over her face. She doesn’t notice me standing here, so I don’t say anything. I just watch.
“He ruined me,” she whispers to herself. A tear slides down her cheek when I close the door and lock it, finally capturing her attention. She looks up at me in the mirror but never turns to face me as she quickly wipes her eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re thinkin’, but you’re wrong.” She shakes her head slowly before finally turning to face me. There’s the scar, the mark from the bullet. A few lingering bruises that are slowly fading away. It’s the swell of her tits, the curve of her hips keeping my eyes glued to her. I let my gaze slowly slide up and down her body before resting on her eyes. Slowly, I pull my arms out of my cut and toss it onto the chair in the corner. Moving to my shirt next, I do the same. Silla watches me, not saying a word. When my top half is naked, I move closer to her.
“Each one of them means somethin’,” I say as I run my fingers over every scar. Not just the one’s from the shooting. All of them. “Each one says that I’m a survivor.”
“You’re a man,” she says softly.
“So? You survived, Silla. They thought they could take your life and you did one better. You fuckin’ lived. It’s like the biggest slap to the face they could get. You did what they didn’t want you to do,” I tell her. When I reach for her, she lets me. She doesn’t pull away as I run my fingers over the marks on her flesh. Heat coils inside of me as chills rush her body.
“Tell me all men will look at me the same way you are right now,” she nearly begs me. Fuck, what is she trying to do to me?
“Why should I?”
“Because I need to know,” she whispers, sounding so broken and vulnerable.
“I can’t tell you that,” I admit. Silla starts to pull away when I jerk her back. “I can’t tell you that because I don’t think I want any other man to touch you, to see you like this but me.” The growl leaving me is feral. What I’m feeling inside is unhinged, and she is making me crazier by the second. She reaches for my jeans and undoes the button before slipping them down my legs along with my boxers. I kick my boots off and climb out of the rest of my clothes before reaching for my jeans. I grab a condom out and tear it open, rolling it on before stalking her like my prey. Silla walks back until she hits the bed and I smirk. Shoving her down roughly, I watch the way her body bounces. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know why she thinks some little scars will keep men away from her.
Kissing her neck, she arches into me. I can feel the bumps as they form on her skin. I inhale, loving