Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
He should be worried about my ability to castrate him with an épée. Because that just officially became my new goal in life.
Though he couldn’t see it, I plastered on a smile, ignoring my skyrocketing pulse. “I’m flattered, Mr. Sun, that you think my measly life is worthy of a life in prison for you.”
“I’m surprised, Miss Ballantine, that you think I’d ever be subjected to such a fate. I am far too rich, powerful, and smart to serve even a minute in any six-by-eight room that isn’t a sauna. Plus, if you turn around, you’ll notice something very interesting about my knife.”
I twisted on my heel, taking my sweet time, building anticipation, not showing an ounce of the panic I felt.
If Zachary Sun wanted my complete submission, he’d have to rip it from my bloody hands.
When my body faced his, I noticed our distance. At least two giant steps separated us.
My eyes crawled down to the knife stabbing my hip bone. Thick black velvet hugged everything but the blade.
My breath caught inside my throat. “Velvet doesn’t catch fingerprints.”
Of course, he knew that.
What the heck didn’t this man know?
His eyes held mine. “No weapon, no crime.”
“This can’t be legal.”
“Everything is legal when you know the right people.” Something deliciously dark gleamed in his eyes. “Laws are for people like you. Lawyers are for people like me.”
“You’re a fraud. Nothing like how they portray you in the media.” The words burst past clenched teeth. If I lessened the pressure of my bite, even a smidge, my teeth would clatter from angry, vicious tremors. “How many people know that you’re a monster?”
“Not many. Only those who bother to look past my exterior. It’s too convenient not to, though. I’m a highly useful creature to most.”
The tip of his knife drifted from my hip bone toward the space between my navel and the waistband of my jeans.
A pool of heat gathered between my legs.
What the hell is wrong with you, Fae?
But I couldn’t help it.
Something about the power he oozed got me. I’d lived in one of the richest zip codes my entire life, yet I’d never experienced anyone quite like Zachary Sun.
His knife stopped just shy of my sex. He licked his lips, subconsciously. “You could be one of them, you know.”
My whole body came alive, my pulse stuttering beneath every inch of my skin.
I wanted more.
And yet, I wanted nothing to do with him at all.
Logic dictated that someone like him would be shit in bed. He had all the wrong traits of a talented lover.
Too selfish.
Too beautiful.
Too narcissistic.
But I still would.
My eyes jerked up, crashing into his. He had no trouble meeting my eye contact. He wasn’t a psychopath.
No. He was something else completely.
The only monster of his kind.
“A deal with the devil?”
He stared down his nose at me, every inch of him a frozen tundra. “The only thing you lose out of striking such a deal is your soul, and that isn’t worth too much.”
An impregnable lump blocked any words from escaping my throat.
I cleared it, curling my nails into my palm. “How do you know?”
He shrugged, his knife still digging into my core, to the space where warmth swirled. “Most people do not possess them in the first place.”
“Maybe I don’t have a soul, either.”
Are you really talking to Zachary Sun about souls right now?
What is wrong with you?
The answer, of course, was a lot.
A whole bunch, in fact.
But every minute we spoke was a minute he didn’t stab me.
Yeah. That’s why, Fae.
Keep telling yourself that.
He drew slight circles with the flat edge of his knife, sending fireworks from my core to my toes. “You do.”
“How do you know?”
“You reek of it.” His jaw clenched under smooth golden skin. “And I’m a soul collector.”
Are you drunk?
He didn’t look it, but he sure sounded it.
I meant to ask, but all I could manage was, “You collect souls?”
“The most underrated currency in the world. Everybody wants one, and they’re hard to come by. That’s why people purchase art. Art makes you feel alive.”
“Only if you’re already living.”
“Even if you’re a breath away from death,” he countered, drawing an indecipherable pattern against me. Just when I’d thought nothing affected him, he spared a single glance downward. The blade grazed the tiny sliver of bare skin above my waistband. “Once I have someone’s soul, they’re a pawn in my hand.”
This man’s brand of fucked up made Michael Myers resemble a Teletubby. A psychology thesis could be written on how well he managed to hide it with ethereal looks and flawless manners.
I wondered if Vera and the girls were eavesdropping on us from the living room.
From this angle, we couldn’t see beyond the vacant doorframe, but I wouldn’t put it past them. They loved good gossip almost as much as they enjoyed seeing me punished.