Sinner's Revenge(24)

I wrap her wrists quickly, noticing how she watches my face as I work. I hate how she looks at me. I like it too. It’s like she’s trying to tell me something with her eyes. But when she speaks, she’s just a bitch. I like her better mute.

“There,” I say, throwing the tape on the dresser. “Now get out of my bed.”

“No.”

“Diem.”

“Zeke.”

“You’re starting to piss me off,” I snap, but the truth is, I enjoy our bullshit banter.

“This,” she says, circling her face with her finger. “Look at it. Does it look the slightest bit like I give a shit about your feelings?” I lied. I don’t enjoy this. Not even a little bit. I hate her. I really do.

“That,” I say, mirroring her finger-waving shit. “Is fixing to look a helluva lot worse. I’m not playing with you, Diem. I’m fixing to fuck you up.” She laughs. Bitch.

“Seriously, Zeke? You expect me to believe that? You’d never hit a woman. Trust me. I know the men capable of it. You’re not one of them.” Anger ignites inside me at the thought of her even knowing people like that. Much less being their victim. Although I don’t think I could blame them. They just didn’t have the tolerance I did. The before-Saylor Dirk, would’ve done choked her ass out.

“You’re pushing my fucking limits.” I sit on the bed, forcing her to move over before I crush the rest of her ribs. She does, but she’s not happy about it.

I turn the TV on and she looks at me like I’ve just committed some act of treason. “I’m tired.”

“Go to sleep,” I say, leaning back on my arm and flipping to the Western Channel.

“I can’t. The TV bothers me.”

“Then get your ass on the couch.”

I feel her eyes burning into me. I don’t want to look, but that force she has pulls my eyes to hers. Then, the most wicked smile I’ve ever seen crosses her face. “You know, it’s kinda hot in here.” With that, she slips her arms inside her shirt, my shirt, and pulls it over her head. And this time, I was going to look.

The two most perfect tits I’ve ever seen in my entire life stare back at me. They’re bigger than a handful, but not by much. I can tell by just looking at them that they’re not fake either. I have a thing for natural, beautiful tits with small, light brown nipples that look better in my mouth than on her chest. Feeling my cock stiffen, I remember he does too.

Before I start thinking with the wrong head, and she has a chance to push the covers off the rest of her body, I’m on my feet. I’m frustrated because I can’t have her, and even more so because I actually want her. She isn’t even my type.

Grabbing my pillow, I walk out, taking the remote with me.

“The T—,” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Turn it off your fucking self.”


* * *

“I’m gonna kill her, Rookie. I swear I’m gonna do it.” I’m in the shed, considering flying back to Jackpot for the night. I’d have to be back by tomorrow, but it would be worth it.

“Dude, it’s three o’clock in the morning. My ol’ lady I ain’t seen in three months is naked and in my bed, and I’m outside on the phone with you. So next time, kill her first. Then call me and I’ll come help bury the body. Until then, throw the bitch out, or sleep on the couch.”

The phone disconnects. So much for fucking brotherly love. I light a cigarette, thinking about taking my bike out, when I hear her calling my name. I run full speed inside, panic filling me. How can I care about someone’s well-being so much and hate them at the same time?

I bust through my bedroom door, flipping the light on and scanning the room for intruders or ghosts or spiders. Fucking something. But what I find is an amused Diem, alone and safe in my bed. Back in my shirt.

“Where’s the fire?” she asks, fighting a smile.

“Diem,” I say in warning.

“I was just going to see if you would turn the air on. It’s seriously hot in here.” She fans herself dramatically. And it’s my breaking point.

“That’s it. I can’t do this.” She looks a little worried, as she should. Careful not to kill her, I grab under her knees and around her back. She hisses at the movement, and not one fucking inch of me feels sorry for her. Lifting her from the bed, I take her to the living room, and deposit her gently on the couch—fighting the urge to throw her through a window.

“If you come back in my room, I’m gonna break your legs. You don’t believe me, then try me.” My voice is hard, cold, and so harsh that she presses further into the couch.