Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(57)

Other than that, though, there’s no change.

No floorboards creak, no thudding ensues as they come upstairs, and no one lurks in the shadows. It’s just a feeling I have.

One second, I’m sitting at the vanity across from my bed, removing my makeup, and the next, Aiden’s standing behind me, glaring at our reflection.

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares, storms raging in his gray eyes.

The kind of storms you lose yourself in. That destroy without discretion, obliterating everything in their paths, leaving behind worthless terrain.

My hand shakes where I hold the makeup wipe to my chin, but I don’t move it, too afraid to see his reaction to my scarred skin in the daylight, with no barrier to hide behind.

He reaches up, brushing some of the pink hair from my shoulder.

“So, that’s why I didn’t notice your face before.” His fingers are rough, new calluses sprouting overtop old ones, and he drags the pads across the back of my neck. “You were hiding.”

I don’t answer, unsure of what he wants me to even say.

Why wouldn’t I hide from him?

From everyone?

It’s the only thing I know how to do.

“Show me.”

My eyebrows furrow at his command, and I shake my head.

His hand pauses, and I feel his fingers curl around my neck, their grip harsh. “It wasn’t a fucking request.”

I press the wipe harder against my face. “And my scars are none of your business.”

“Wrong.” He squeezes, gray eyes blazing. “Everything about you is my business, Riley. You no longer have an advantage in the information department.”

All traces of the confident, charismatic rock star I met years ago are gone, and in his place stands this… monster. An unrecognizable villain driven by the need to make me pay for something I didn’t even do.

You didn’t exactly make things better, though.

A lie of omission is still a lie, it’s just dressed better.

“If you know so much, how come you seem so shocked by the scars?”

“Nothing in your medical history points to wounds that would leave such permanent evidence.” Bending down, he moves so our faces are side by side in the mirror, and I can smell the slightest hint of whiskey on his breath.

My stomach rolls, fear seizing me like a volcano preparing to erupt.

“You looked at my medical history?”

The envelope that prompted my move flashes to mind, and I can’t help wondering if he had something to do with it, after all.

“Don’t sound so offended. It’s not like you didn’t violate my trust.”

“What you did was illegal.”

His brows rise. “As is lying about a crime. But don’t worry, my little snake. I didn’t find anything interesting.”

I clench my jaw as he leans in and try to pretend I don’t hear him inhale at my temple.

“Well, there was one thing,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my hair as he speaks. “Something about vaginal scarring? Tell me, Riley, did someone hurt you, and you thought it’d be easier to blame me?”

Violent nausea curdles in my gut, a fiery ball of disgust spinning inside me until it’s about to burst. Shame slithers down my limbs, terror mixing with hot humiliation, and I press the makeup wipe into my cheek until my teeth threaten to pierce the skin.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grit out.

“Well, here I am, asking you to clarify.” Pausing, he stands up straight again, releasing me with a shove; I brace my free hand against the white plastic of the vanity, catching myself before my chest can collide with it.

“I’m confused about what makes you think you’re entitled to that part of me,” I snap, growing agitated. “If you’re going to torment me, then fucking do it. But don’t try to get to know me better. I’m not telling you my secrets.”

Walking backward, he stops once the backs of his knees hit the bed, cocking his head to one side. He studies me, silent as a mouse, for so long that I force myself to look away, glancing down at the tabletop for my foundation.

If he’s going to stick around, I need to put it back on.

I don’t know why it matters, but it does.

A muscle spasm works through my hand as I search, frenzied panic swelling in my chest as my eyes rove over the makeup, unable to find the bottle I want.

“I can’t tell you all my secrets. Where’s the fun in that?”

Freezing, I tilt my head up, glancing at him in the mirror. He’s sitting on the bed now, having discarded his puffer jacket, and is working the sleeves of his black button-down, folding them back over his forearms.

Heat pools between my legs as he uncovers his inked skin, and my eyes struggle to memorize the images in person. Skulls, flowers, and music notes are among the designs, each one having a profound—and totally unwelcome—effect on the pace of my heartbeat.

It’s almost enough to distract me from his words, but then I blink, realizing what he’s just said.

Words I spoke the night we met, before we’d even left the charity gala.

He smirks, seeming to notice how flustered he’s making me.

“What?” he prompts, switching to his other arm, working the sleeve up. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”