Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(64)

“But then, I guess I don’t know anything about you at all,” I continue, cocking my head. “You’re not as easy to read as the others, but you already know that, don’t you?”

This one-sided discussion is like every ‘conversation’ we have together, if you could even call them that. He’s ignoring me, not letting me get to him, and I’m pushing for answers.

“Why did you follow me, Priest?” I ask after another moment of nothing but haunting music, getting right to the heart of the matter. “Why did you step in to save me?”

He just keeps playing, acting like he can’t hear me.

The music isn’t that loud, and I know he’s not in some zone where he’s deaf to the world around him. He’s just deliberately being a dick.

So, nothing new.

I take another step closer, closing the distance between me and the piano. “It doesn’t make any sense, you know. You’re the one who’s been throwing threats around that if I messed with you and your brothers you were going to kill me. You’re the one who wanted me gone. You would have gotten your wish today. Those fuckers were going to kill me, and I would have been gone for good.”

The music stumbles for a split second when his fingers hesitate on the keys, and in that fraction of time, I think he’s finally going to answer me.

But he doesn’t. Of course he fucking doesn’t.

He keeps on playing, picking up the melody again as if he never stopped, continuing to act like I’m not even here.

My eyes narrow in frustration, and I move even closer, waiting for him to snap at me or something, the way he usually does when I get too close.

Still nothing.

It pisses me off, anger and irritation rising like a hot tide in my chest. I hate that he’s so good at brushing me off and pretending like I’m not in the room. I want to crack his fucking ice king fa?ade and see what’s under it. See what makes him do the things he does. Like leaping in to save me today when he’s spent all this time claiming to want me dead.

I move until I’m right next to the piano, hands braced on the shiny black veneer of it.

Priest just plays on.

With a glare, I climb up on the instrument, making myself comfortable and hoping the mistreatment of his precious piano will piss him off. All I’m wearing is my t-shirt and some panties, and I know my bare legs are right in his field of vision. There’s no way he can’t see them—can’t see that I’m right here.

When he still doesn’t say anything, I pivot on the shiny black surface and slide closer, until I’m perched on the piano right in front of him. There’s something urging me on. Some impulse I don’t understand, but one I don’t question either.

I spread my legs slowly, giving him ample time to realize what I’m about to do and make some kind of protest.

Of course, he doesn’t.

He’s too good to talk to the likes of me or what-the-fuck-ever. He just keeps playing, his fingers moving smoothly over the keys as if he doesn’t have an audience at all.

So I let my hand wander down to my crotch, touching myself through my panties. Even with the irritation and confusion curling through me, my fingers feel good when they skim over my clit through the fabric of my underwear, and I huff a soft little noise of pleasure at my own touch.

I’m not even sure what drove me to do this, but all I know is I want to push Priest. I want to force a reaction out of him, because I’m sick of this blank-faced bullshit he’s pulling. He wasn’t fucking blank when he strode in and shot those cartel members, and yet he can’t find the goddamn decency to tell me why.

I keep my eyes on him while I let my fingers rub over the dampening crotch of my panties, silently daring him to give a shit one way or the other. I don’t care which way he picks. I just need something.

He can’t help but look at me, even if he doesn’t want to. I’m right there in his face, legs spread, fingers moving, and even though his attention is on the music he’s still playing, I can feel it every time his eyes land on me.

It’s like a physical touch on my skin, searing and intense, and even if he hates what he sees, hates that I’m here, it’s affecting him. Those minuscule cracks I can see in his mask push me to keep going, even though I still haven’t figured out what I’m doing yet, or why the hell I’m pushing him like this.

I thrust my hips forward with a low groan, grinding against my fingers as music fills the room. My clit throbs behind the soft cotton of my panties, aching to be touched without the barrier in the way.

My core clenches, reminding me that it’s still empty, and just from the way my fingertips are getting wet, I know there must be a visible damp spot on my panties that Priest won’t be able to ignore.

He tries though.

I’ll give him that.

His nostrils flare, like he’s smelling my arousal, and his eyes flick to me again before going back down to the piano. The song has shifted from the one he was playing when I came in to something different.

It’s still slow and melodic, still haunting in a weird way, and since he doesn’t have sheet music in front of him, it has to be something he either wrote or memorized a long time ago.

Either way, it becomes the soundtrack to this little moment.

It blends in with my soft moans as I spread my legs wider and roll my hips, low key humping my own fingers right there in front of him.