Everyone in South Boston knew that Troy had killed them both.
No one said a word.
That should have told me a thing or a dozen about my husband.
His cruelty was infinite. His hands had touched blood, weapons, knives, dead bodies. Thinking about him caressing my body with those hands should’ve made me nauseous. Yet somehow, it didn’t…
“Not scared at all. You don’t know anything about me.” I turned in bed, offering him my back and hugging my knees to my chest. I buried my face in the soft pillow.
His side of the mattress lifted unexpectedly. I heard him pad across the floor to the bathroom, but he didn’t bother to close the door. I listened closely. He took a leak and washed his hands, whistling. When he returned, he stood there at the end of the bed in his underwear, his cock saluting in my direction.
“First time you've seen a boner?” he mocked.
I didn’t want to tell him the truth. Yes. So I gulped and looked up, concentrating on a piece of modern art, a painting of a naked woman behind him. I shrugged. “Yours is nothing special.”
“That’s where I can prove you wrong.” His smile almost passed for human.
“Thanks for the offer, but beside the fact I’d rather chew on used needles, I just got my period.” I pulled the duvet all the way up to my nose.
“Bull-fucking-shit.” His mouth twisted into a vicious smirk. “Let’s see it.”
“What?”
“Let’s. See. Your period,” he said slowly. “Take off your briefs.”
I scooted away from him, looking around me, trying to marshal my thoughts. “You’re not serious?”
“I don’t do humor, Sparrow. Besides, you’ve shown some spine so far, don’t wanna ruin it by chickening out on me, do you…wifey?”
“But…”
“The butt is a good option,” he said evenly, not a trace of amusement in his voice, “but I’m more interested in seeing your blood right now.”
I glanced around me, looking for...what? Sharp objects to throw at him as I ran? He could probably kill me just by breathing in my direction. Instead of taunting him like a three-year-old, I should’ve told him the truth.
“I’m not chickening out.”
He moved closer toward me. “Actions speak louder than words.”
Screw it. He wanted to play, and I was starting to understand his twisted game.
I stood up in front of him and peeled my PJ shorts down an inch at a time. My fingers scraped my pubic bones and despite my hatred of him, I found myself self-conscious about my scrawniness. I bet he was used to sleeping with women who were all curves. And I looked like a boy, with my pale skin, fragile frame and bonfire hair.
But he’d challenged me, and I had my stupid pride to keep intact.
“Underwear, too.” Brennan sat, falling onto my side of the bed with a soft thud as I stood in front of him, removing my clothing inch by inch.
My body vibrated as I held back my hatred. His gaze zeroed on my pelvic area, tucking one hand into his underwear and stroking himself leisurely. I took off my underwear, feeling a mixture of disgust and thrill with the situation. What the hell is wrong with you, Sparrow? Appalled, I wet my lips, watching him. Are you freaking high?
“Show me your blood,” he rasped.
I winced again, sucking my lower lip and releasing it slowly. My body hummed with embarrassment as I slid one of my index fingers between my folds, scraped the surface of my inside shallowly, and displayed my finger, showing him a scarlet smear of fresh blood.
I’d put the blood there while I was in the bathroom, purposely cutting my foot open with his razor and letting myself bleed so I could insert it between my legs. I’d closed the cut with the styptic pencil I’d found next to his razor and then rolled on a pair of socks to hide what I’d done, just to be safe. I knew it was sick, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
And I was desperate not to give Brennan what was mine, in case he decided to have me on our wedding night.
Troy inspected the blood on my finger, raised his eyes to meet mine and licked his lips, top to bottom. He looked like he was going to pounce and rip me open at any moment. Whether it was with lust or hate, I wasn’t completely sure. Either way, he was raw, untamed. Trouble.
“Do you really think a man like me will be put off by blood, Red?” he asked.
“Quite the opposite,” I said, using every ounce of confidence I still had in me. “But rape is beneath you. I know that.”
I hoped that.
Troy stopped stroking himself and leaned forward. I barely managed to control my quavering thighs when he parted his lips and took my bloody finger in his mouth while his eyes zeroed in on mine. He sucked my finger clean for a whole minute before releasing it with a pop and snaking his hands behind me, cupping my ass cheeks and jerking me toward him. I collapsed on the bed, straddling him. He smiled that mischievous smirk that seemed to highlight his startlingly handsome features, his eyes wild with abandon. My thighs clenched on either side of his waist.
Damn thighs.
Hell, this was bad. I needed to stop, this much I knew. My body, however, had very different plans.
“I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to do,” Brennan said finally. “But so far you haven’t stopped me. Now why is that?”
I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath.
“I haven’t stopped you because I don’t want you to hurt me.” I put my hands on his bare chest to balance myself. His muscles were flexed, hard. Something about what he said annoyed me. He made it sound like I enjoyed his attention, the way he sucked on my blood. I didn’t. True, I didn’t feel violated—for some screwed up reason I wasn’t eager to explore—but I certainly didn’t ask for it.