Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(50)

The pistol Boyd gave me before my move sits inside, collecting dust from never having been used; it’s been locked in the nightstand for three years, the need for protection beyond the basics never having risen before.

Dream or not, I don’t want to take that chance anymore.

The weapon is heavy in my hand as I pull it out, and unease snakes along my spine, burrowing in each divot there.

Cold metal cools my skin as I turn it over, trying to remember the safety tips my brother gave when he shoved it in my suitcase.

“Keep the safety locked at all times. The presence of a gun alone is often enough to subdue an attacker; don’t kill yourself in return.”

“Aim to kill if you ever need to turn off the safety. You’re not a cop. Do what you have to.”

“Once it’s out, don’t ever take your eyes off of it.”

That last comment sticks with me most, though not for the reason Boyd probably hoped. I walk to the full-length mirror across the room, so focused on the weapon that I don’t even notice when someone steps up behind me.

It’s stupid, really.

I should know better.

Just because you think you’re alone doesn’t make it so.

A sigh washes over my hair, and I grit my teeth.

Lifting my gaze in the mirror, I try to ignore the sudden racing of my heart at his proximity.

Looming over me, his front doesn’t quite touch my back, but his presence scalds my skin all the same. A finger comes up, tracing the curve of my hip as gray eyes flash, zeroing in on the gun.

“Do you even know how to use one of these?” he asks, and I hate the flurry of butterflies his rasp sends through me.

My jaw clenches, and I clasp the neckline of my robe together with my free hand. “It’s not rocket science.”

“No, but it is a little predictable. Woman gets a stalker, thinks she can intimidate him with a firearm. You know how those movies go.”

“Oh, you’re my stalker now? What an interesting turn of events.”

I don’t know why I say it, don’t know why I’m antagonizing instead of demanding he leave, or calling the cops, but for some reason, logic flies out the window when I’m within spitting distance of this man.

It’s got to be lingering groupie brain. The power of stardom that lets celebrities think they can treat normal people however they want, sans any consequences.

Or maybe I like the way my sarcasm makes those silvery eyes rage.

Maybe I agree—I do owe him.

“Was I not clear last night, Riley?”

My stomach cramps, hearing my real name on his lips.

Leaning in, he fits his palm around the gun’s grip over my hand, his finger brushing outside the trigger. The barrel turns, resting at the hollow point of my throat, and I can’t stop the gulp that ensues.

“I’m your reckoning.”

In a flash, he’s shifting, hitting the release with his thumb so the magazine pops out, and then he lets the unloaded gun clatter to the floor.

I swallow, steadying myself by planting my hands on either side of the mirror. My fingers curl around the frame, and he steps in, fitting himself against me.

“Three years,” he says, tilting his head down so his nose is buried in my hair, words reverberating against my skull. “I’ve thought about you all that time. Imagined the look in your eyes when I finally found you; how wide they’d be, swollen with nervousness.”

He squeezes my hip, then moves to the middle of the robe, hooking his thumb in the tie.

“Are you ready to tell me why you did it?” His other hand comes up to the other side of the tie, and he begins to pull the loops apart. My posture stiffens, fear immobilizing me, but as goose bumps trickle over my skin and tighten my nipples, it’s clear fear and arousal are very close friends in my body.

A wave of nausea rolls through me at the thought, and I clench my jaw so hard that it feels like it might break, warding off the onslaught of feeling.

Willing myself to turn it off.

Block it out.

As the robe falls open, baring me once again to his hungry gaze, a numbing sensation spreads through my limbs like liquid Novocain.

His hands fall to my hips once again, pulling the satin material so I’m more exposed, and I draw in a shaky breath as he stares at me in the daytime.

“It really is a shame you turned out to be such a little snake,” he whispers, shifting me back so I’m pressed fully into him.

Where I can feel everything.

While anger rolls off of him in heated waves, the erection digging into my ass makes it clear that’s not his singular motivation.

Throat thick with an emotion I can’t quite place, I glare at him in the mirror. “Why are you here, Aiden? What do you want me to do?”

“Suffer.”

He grunts the word into my hair, his palm skating over my stomach, thumb swiping the underside of my breast. Fingers ghost up, whispering over my nipple, before continuing their ascent and wrapping lightly around my throat.

“I want you to suffer, Riley. However I have to make that happen. I’m not leaving this hellhole until you have.”

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, unable to stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. I pinch them shut, but the complete sheen of terror remains, wringing my bones dry. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Intentions mean shit when lives get destroyed. Keep your apologies, angel. It’s too late for them to be of any use to me.”