Ruin & Rule

I had to throw this imposter away.

Before it was too late.

—Kill

I’d lived trials I couldn’t remember.

I’d learned skills I couldn’t recall.

I’d lived a life that no longer existed.

Yet I knew one thing with utmost certainty.

I’d never been more alive than when Kill held my hand and marched me to his bike.

I’d never been more aware as I sat behind him and wrapped my arms around his muscular waist.

I’d never been so willing to throw everything away for more of what he conjured in my core, in my heart, in my soul.

The heat.

The throb.

The need.

He was an addiction to my painfully deprived mind.

And I was petrified.

Not because of the recklessness in which I pressed my breasts against his back, or the greed with which I took his mouth when he pulled into his garage.

No.

I was terrified that nothing else mattered to me.

Nothing else but the selfish pleasure of want.

And that was a dangerous, dangerous place to be.

One tracked. One minded.

Completely vulnerable and open for pain.

I played with my demise.

I ran straight toward my downfall.

Chapter Nine

How the fuck could I stop this?

I couldn’t stop this.

I didn’t want to stop this.

For the first time in my godforsaken life, I felt… felt something instead of the cold hatred of vengeance.

It gave me strength all while making me weak.

I wanted more.

Therefore, I had to stop.

Before she destroyed me—just like all the rest.

—Kill

We stared at each other.

Breathing hard and rough, we didn’t move to close the distance between us.

The moment we’d entered his bedroom, we’d sprung apart like magnets that went from connection to polar repulsion.

I stood hesitantly in the middle of his bedroom, unable to control my crazy overbeating heart. Kill stood braced against the door, his hands balled by his sides, his face a mask of lust and confusion.

In that second, I was a student.

About to be taught how to please a biker lord.

The bedroom shimmered with everything that sparked between us. Prisms of need bounced with the late-afternoon sunshine, the air thick with unspoken explanations.

I had so many questions.

But we somehow wordlessly agreed not to say anything. One wrong sentence would jeopardize everything that was about to happen.

Kill dragged a hand through his disheveled hair. It gleamed almost black¸ windswept and sexy from the manic bike ride home. I’d never been so eager to do something so wrong.

Was I about to commit adultery? Would my soul go to hell for being so consumed by one need—one incredibly selfish need?

Kill’s green eyes never unlocked from mine, cranking my anxiety until I trembled.

He made a half-distraught, half-throttled noise in the back of his throat as he leaned against the door; his hand gripped the handle as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

I tried to guess what was going through his head.

But I’d been lost the moment he’d kissed me in the changing room. This was all him—I wasn’t in charge; I didn’t want to be in charge. I hoped he’d slip and somehow shed light on everything that taunted me.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, his knuckles going white around the doorknob.

I stiffened and inched toward the large mattress.

I felt as if I existed in a booby-trapped battleground. One wrong move and something would snap and kill me. I tried to swallow but had no lubrication in my throat—it had all drained below to throb between my legs.

I’d never been so turned on.

You think.

I shouldn’t be doing this!

You won’t stop.

“I won’t tell you again, sweetheart. Get on the bed.” His voice was dark and full of gravel. My eyes dropped to his jeans. He was rock hard—just like he’d been while pushing against me in the store.

God, help me.

What if I’m a virgin, not on the pill, married?

I shoved those thoughts away, moving faster toward the bed. The closer I got, the heavier Kill breathed.

I bit my lip as the bed brushed against my legs. Instantly, Kill pushed off from the door, prowling toward me.

With a powerful shrug, he discarded his leather cut, letting it puddle against the charcoal carpet. In another step, he reached down and tugged off one large boot, then the other.

His jaw twitched as he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and ripped it over his head, hissing between his teeth as his stitches pulled, but he never stopped closing the distance between us.

A spiral of lust shot through my system as I gawked at his cut muscles, the smoothness of his skin, and the dark happy trail disappearing into his jeans. His freshly stitched scar looked red and puffy. Panic filled me at the thought of infection.

My heart raced to slow down the monstrous wave of animalistic need. “I should really tend to that.”

He shook his head, his eyes hooded. “You’re tending to something a lot more important.” Only a yard separated us, his body heat singeing me even from that distance.

My stomach twisted, sending sparks through my body.

“Take off the dress,” he murmured. My fingertips brushed the silver maxi he’d bought me at the store. After our kiss, he’d bundled everything into a pile, dragged me from the changing room, thrown some money at the clerk, and stolen me away on his motorbike.

With fluttering heartbeats, I gathered the material at my shoulders and shimmied out of the soft dress. It pooled around my ankles, leaving me exposed in the buttercup-yellow lingerie.