Page 55 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
I've never seen that asshole smile before.
It really throws me for a loop.
“You want a line?” he asks me, his voice like the rumble of a beast, like one of those motorcycles outside the front door. He sounds mechanically vicious, but … in a good way. I take a step forward, still holding my purse and my beer. I've smoked plenty of pot and cigarettes, had plenty of alcohol, but I've never moved past that threshold. I've never wanted to. Before Queenie and Posey, I wanted to get as far away from all of this as possible. But now, I couldn't care less whether I live or die. So what does it matter?
“Sure,” I say with a shrug, stepping forward and setting my purse on the counter next to the mirror. Grainger barely looks up at me as he plugs a nostril with his finger and snorts a line. I watch how he does it, so I don't look like a complete idiot. After he's done, he swipes the remaining powder up with a finger and rubs it on his gums.
“You new around here?” he asks me as I lean over the counter, and I pause, glancing up at him from behind a sheet of dark hair. Oh. He doesn't recognize me. The asshole seriously doesn't recognize me. Am I wearing that much makeup or is he just an idiot?
I decide I don't care either way.
Instead of answering him, I smile mysteriously and bend down, mimicking Grainge as I press one finger to my nostril and inhale. It's a weird fucking sensation, and I end up coughing as I step back and rub at my nose. I swear, I can taste chemicals in the back of my throat, like that cleaner Queenie used to scrub the bathroom with that made me feel lightheaded. Or maybe like medicated eye drops. Yep, that’s what that taste is.
Grainger laughs at me, hooking an arm around my waist as he leans down and snorts another line. Meanwhile, my head is buzzing and I feel like I'm swaying on my feet.
“You're beautiful, you know that?” he tells me, and it's the only nice thing I’ve ever heard him say. I turn my head up to look at him, and even though I know it's a line, I don't care. When he bends down to press his mouth to mine, my lips are buzzing and a groan slips out unbidden. It's not an inquisitive, questing kiss or even a claiming mark. No, it's just … a whirlwind of lust and heat and debauchery. Kissing Grainger is like sipping shadows. I can feel that darkness flowing into me and taking over.
Or maybe that's the cocaine working its magic?
Grainger turns me to face him and then pushes me none too gently against the wall, stepping in and leaning down with the practiced perfection of a man-whore. It's nice though, all this choreographed romance being thrown my way. I wonder how long it'll take this idiot to realize who I am?
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kiss him deep and I don't worry about Sin. It's not like we're anything at all to each other anyway. He's probably already forgotten about me. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time he abandoned me. If he’d been at the house that day, guarding me and my sisters …
Remember to save most of your hate for Cat, my mind whispers, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Sin—or Crown, or Beast, or even this asshole who’s kissing me right now—were told to be at the house, they would’ve been there. It was Cat who called them off, who made a strategic error in this fucked-up game against the mafia.
Grainger presses his scalding hot mouth to mine and slips his tongue between my lips, taking complete control over the moment and owning me with his fingers, the press of his hips against me, the tease of his cock against my stomach. I'm pretty fucking tall, especially with my heels on, clocking in at a healthy six feet. But Grainger is even taller, and I love it. He towers over me, penning me in against the mirrors and kissing me until even I can't remember my own name.
His hands wander down my curves, fingers clamping over my hips. He works my mouth with his dark magic until my nipples are pebbled to hard points and I can feel a hot wetness between my thighs that makes me want to squirm. He tastes like cigarettes and spiced rum, and when he slides his tongue along the side of my jaw and goes for my throat, I go weak at the knees. It's suddenly hard to stand up. In fact, it's suddenly hard to think about anything other than being on my back with this huge biker asshole between my thighs.
