Tales of Darkness & Sin - Pepper Winters Page 0,80

and secret conversations that weren’t meant for my ears. As if sensing my thoughts, Saint pushes up from the ottoman, perching on the edge of the bed next to me, staring down at me. He searches my gaze for a few seconds before he reaches out, his thumb gliding along my bandaged neck. When I swallow, I wince at how sore my neck feels. I have no doubt it’s probably bruised from his ministrations last night.

“I don’t like secrets, Tesoro,” he murmurs. His delicate touch along my neck is so it adds with the fire brewing in his eyes.

“I know,” I whisper. “Which is why I think I know who sent the man from the basement, or more accurately, why.”

His eyes flash and he quirks a brow, playing it cool. “Do tell.”

“My father. I remember overhearing a conversation years ago, between him and our driver, Banks. He talked about a key. He said, ‘she’s the key to everything.’ I think he was talking about me. For whatever reason, my father wants me back because he thinks I’m the key to something, I just don’t know what.”

He searches my gaze with earnest. “What else do you remember?”

“That’s it. He mentioned the name Monroe a few times, but…that’s all I remember. I’ve been trying to figure it out, find out what he could possibly have up his sleeve.”

Confusion flashes across Saint’s face for only a brief second but I still catch it. “Why tell me at all? Why not lie?”

My heart jumps into my throat. “Because I don’t want to lie to you.”

His eyes heat, and he gently rubs the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. “You certainly make things interesting, Tesoro.”

For the first time in weeks, I smile.

CHAPTER NINE

Saint

ONE MONTH LATER…

Watching her sleep is my favorite part of the day. When the sun’s barely creeping its way into the bedroom, chasing away all the dark, nefarious deeds I did the night before to the angel who now sleeps peacefully beside me. I love when the sunlight finally reaches her, bathing her in its warmth. Her pouty lips always curve slightly into an almost smile that makes me wonder what she’s dreaming about.

Me.

It’s always me.

I make sure I’m the first thing she wakes up to and the last thing she sees before falling asleep.

Makes me sound like a lovesick teenager.

But lovesick teenagers don’t fuck their willing captives in the ass while holding their delicate necks in a punishing grip, just to watch fat tears roll down their red, splotchy cheeks.

My dick thickens at the reminder of last night. How she squealed and begged for relief. To give her a second to catch her breath and adjust to the invasion inside her asshole.

It was cute she thought she had a say in the matter.

I stroke my fingers through her silky blond hair and marvel over her beauty. For such a small, seemingly fragile woman, she’s demonstrated each day just how strong she is. It makes me enjoy seeing how far I can push her. Though she seems at the end of her rope each time, she always makes it through to the end. I’m fucking obsessed with the way her green eyes light up with pride. That she danced with the monster and lived long enough to sleep in his arms after.

It makes me wonder if my father felt this way about my mother. Like he could pause all his ruthless deeds just to take a few moments to admire her beauty. I find that I allow myself many of these moments throughout the day. Sure, I destroy men who’ve wronged me, threaten those who might, and end anyone I have no use for anymore, but in between those intense, violent times, I find myself seeking out Melody.

For release.

For a kiss.

For companionship.

When she’s not bent over, screaming and tears dripping from her jaw, she’s following me around my home like a dutiful puppy, eager for my attention and praise. Every time she feels as though she has information that might help me in some capacity, she presents it like a birthday cake she made all by herself. Proud as fuck. And I reward the girl every goddamn time.

“No,” she whimpers, her serene face suddenly screwing up into a terrified one.

At first, I’m curious if I’m the villain in her nightmares. But then she mutters something about “Daddy.” My blood boils. Every awful situation she’s encountered—including me—over the past month and a half is a direct result of his schemes. If I