Kings of Anarchy (Brutal Boys of Everlake Prep #3) - Caroline Peckham Page 0,36

body like rain from a storm cloud and the frantic pace of our fucking melted into this deep and soul devouring kiss which had me never wanting to come up for air.

Her tongue danced with mine and I stroked her flesh, shifting onto my side and pulling her around so that I could loosen the rope from her wrists.

I trailed kisses over her throat, her breasts and the bite marks I'd left on her thighs. Every mark and bruise I'd placed on her skin, soothed and caressed as she caught her breath and pushed her fingers through my hair.

By the time I made it back up to her lips, she was smiling, her eyes hooded with a need for sleep as her fingers traced the devil tattoo on my chest.

"You really are an animal, Kyan Roscoe," she breathed with a smile that told me just how pleased she was to find out I hadn't been full of shit.

"I'm whatever you want me to be, baby," I replied as I kissed her again. "So long as you want me to be it."

W e arrived back at Everlake Prep the following evening and my head was spinning with everything I'd found out about Kyan's family. I understood him better now and I'd been so off base with what I'd assumed about him that it made me feel like shit. I'd thought he was just another rich boy with a god complex, lording it around this school and beating down anyone who got in his way. But it wasn't that. Not entirely anyway. Kyan was a fundamentally good man. His morals guided his decisions. Those he punished deserved it. It wasn't black and white, but it was his truth. His need for blood and vengeance was born of the life he'd led with his family, but he turned that aggression onto deserving victims, or those who dared to challenge him in a fair fight.

He wasn't the demon I'd always thought him to be, he was a dark angel with no god. A vigilante who answered blood with blood. But the problem was, he punished himself too. He punished himself for being born of the O'Briens. He punished himself for the bad he'd done before he'd dared to leave them. I could see that hate for himself as clear as day now. He thought of himself as nothing, undeserving of love because he had never been offered it by the people who were meant to offer it unconditionally. Kyan Roscoe hadn't lived up to the name they wanted to brand him with. But what he didn't see was that that was because he was better than them. That he was worth far more in my eyes than a single one of those gangsters.

I wrapped my arms tighter around Kyan's waist as he parked his bike and killed the engine. Saint had bought me new leathers to wear a few weeks ago so I wasn't really cold, but there was a coldness in my heart now that never seemed to go away since losing Dad.

Kyan took his helmet off and I released him, doing the same as I slid off the bike. He took it from me, hanging it with his own on the handlebars and we headed down the path towards the main gate. He insisted on carrying both of our bags and I let him because I could see the need in him to do it for me. His hand brushed mine as we walked then he hooked it into his grip, squeezing possessively.

He led me confidently up to the gate and flashed a smirk at the guard on duty and he quickly let us in with a mumbled greeting. Kyan towed me up the gravel drive towards Aspen Halls, a drizzle in the air making droplets cling to my hair as we moved.

Instead of rounding the gothic building, he shoved me against it, leaning one hand above my head and caging me in as he looked down at me. I opened my mouth to question him, but he slammed his lips to mine, his hand clutching my throat in the same moment to immobilise me. I gasped, my back arching as he pressed his chest to mine, crushing me to the wall as his tongue slid between my lips and the taste of him set my heart racing. Every kiss from Kyan was like his last. Like the world was about to end and fire would rain down from the sky and