Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(58)

Placing his arms behind him on the mattress, Aiden leans back; his thighs are spread wide, the black boots on his feet somehow adding a layer of intimidation that makes it difficult to draw air.

It’s power.

Raw, magnetic, and all-consuming as he holds it over me.

It leaves me feeling somehow sick and elated at the same time.

“Does Caleb know your secrets?”

Reflexively, my face pinches. “Caleb doesn’t really know anything about me.”

“Nothing? What does he think you’re doing here, all by your lonesome?”

I shrug. “He thinks I’m a freelance web designer from Florida, and that I moved here because my parents used to vacation in Denver.”

“And that your name is Angel,” he says. A dark brow arches, an accusation lacing his tone. “Don’t forget that.”

“It was the first one that came to mind when I was making the new identity,” I admit, spinning around in my chair. I keep the wipe pressed against my skin, reaching up to adjust my robe when his gaze drifts to where it gapes slightly.

“Sure you didn’t do it to ease your guilt?”

I scoff, my agitation growing, slipping like dust between my fingers as I try to control it. “Why on earth would that have helped? It’s a constant reminder of how I fucked up every time anyone speaks to me.”

Aiden snorts. “Yeah, you seem real bent out of shape over it. He call you that when he comes for you? Does he bend you over, whisper the name I gave you, and pump you full?”

“You’re disgusting.” Tears sting my eyes as I push to my feet, scrambling toward the bathroom.

My hands scrape the door, nails raking over the surface just as heat floods my back; he crashes into me at the same time he pulls the door shut, flattening me against it.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done talking to you.”

I squirm, jerking my shoulders around as I try to keep the wipe in place. His hand comes up, inked fingers encircling my wrist, trying to tug it away.

“I’m not discussing my sex life with you.”

“Why not?” He shifts, grinding his hips into my lower back, and goddamnit if he isn’t hard.

Does he like seeing me struggle?

The thought leaves my mind as soon as it arrives, forced out because it has no place there. It doesn’t matter what this psycho likes; I’m not supposed to be interested.

“I think I deserve to know who you’ve been fucking since I saw you last,” he says, reaching up to pull my hair to the side. “Especially since you didn’t let me that night in the city.”

“Good thing, too, since you’ve clearly turned out to be a crazy person.”

“Surprised you didn’t already know about that. There’s a whole section of my Wikipedia page dedicated to it. I thought you used to be a fan, angel.”

His words give me pause, because I’m not sure if he’s being facetious or not. It’s been a long time since I actively stalked his informational pages, though, having opted for occasional check-ins through social media only over the years.

Do people really think he’s crazy?

And if they do… am I in actual danger?

“I’m not a fan of this,” I say, pushing back to try and dislodge him from me.

It just makes him press harder, and his low chuckle rumbles in my ear, echoing in my chest. “Sure about that? If I reached under your robe right now, you wouldn’t be soaked for me?”

His free hand skims my thigh, just below my lace hem, and I squeeze my legs together out of habit. He chuckles again, the sound throaty, and its malice rains down my spine like icy drops of water.

Slamming my head into the door, the tendons in my neck scream in agony as I stretch, trying to crush his knuckles with the blow. I repeat the action, and he moves at the last second, my cheek colliding with the wood.

Pain smarts along the bone, searing a path up my nose. My vision blurs, splotches of color flashing across line of sight, and then he’s turning me.

Fat tears well in my eyes as the wipe falls to the floor, abandoned as I reach up to cradle my cheek. It’s hot to the touch, not that I can put much pressure on it without the sting splitting my face in half.

“Stop trying to hurt me,” Aiden says, one of his hands coming up to cup the side of my face that isn’t pulsing. “I might not be in the fucking Mafia like your brother, but you’re not going to be able to overpower me.”

My nostrils flare, anger bubbling inside me. “Don’t talk about my brother.”

“Another touchy subject? Jesus, Riley, you really are full of secrets, aren’t you? I wonder which ones you’re willing to sell your soul to keep.”

Leaning my head back against the door, I close my eyes, letting the tears spill over as the pain in my cheek crests. It throbs outward, sending jolts of misery through my body.

“Leave me alone,” I say, hating that this isn’t the first time I’ve had a breakdown in front of him.

What is it about this man that cracks me wide open?

“You hate me. Messaged received.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, but doesn’t move away, either. I peek out from mostly hooded lids, looking up at him as he studies my face.

My cheek feels swollen, so I’m sure the scar beneath my eye looks worse than usual. The one at the corner of my mouth probably does too, just in comparison, and never in my entire life have I wanted to die more than I do in this moment.