Page 149 of Boys Who Hunt
What the fuck?
She stares me down for a moment, then sighs out loud, turns around, and rummages through a tiny medicine cabinet above her askew sink. My eyes follow the curve of her small body, the thin waist and bones sticking out of her yellow dress, along with the high-inched heels she’s wearing underneath. Those knees are barely thick enough to hold up that body.
Does she even eat enough?
And how the fuck does she go to school when she has a kid?
I swallow as she turns around and looks right at me, her alluring dark eyes catching me off guard. In her hands is a small box that she opens as she approaches me. But the moment she goes to her knees in front of me, that heart I thought beat only for violence suddenly beats out of sync.
“What are you doing?”
She pulls out a few cotton balls and pours some alcohol on them. “You’re bleeding.”
She holds it up to my face, and I flinch, which makes her pause.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
This wasn’t—
“It’ll sting a little,” she says, interrupting my train of thought.
Before I know it, she’s dabbed the cotton against my skin, but the pain doesn’t faze me at all. Blood drives me like adrenaline, even if it is my own I’m tasting. She doesn’t fucking know pain is the only thing that makes me feel like I’m alive. Like I can feel anything at all.
Because I’ve never felt anything other than anger and the need to kill.
Nothing.
Just like she said, I’m a psychopath.
I don’t have emotions.
Nothing.
Yet…
Her hand rises to dab the bloodied wound on my face, but I grasp her wrist midway there and force her to stop.
Stop this. Whatever it is, stop.
But the moment those eyes of hers find mine, I can’t even say the words I thought I wanted to speak.
What the fuck is happening to me?
“I need to clean it, or it might get infected,” she says, tilting her head. “Silas. Please.”
Please.
That fucking word.
She’s said it so many times before, yet it never, ever sounded so … satisfying.
I let out a breath and release her.
She composes herself and starts working on my wound again, but something about all of this annoys the living shit out of me.
“I wouldn’t have gotten this wound if you hadn’t fled the party.”
She pauses, her nose twitching briefly. “I wouldn’t have fled if you hadn’t busted into the room to catch me in the act.”