Page 93 of Kill Feed

I’m already running the conversation in my head about how I will break this devastating news to my puppy when Selene turns back to us, holding out both hands. “And since we’re pressed for time, I’ll need the two of you to take care of this situation right away, so I’ll need your phones.”

Ah, fuck…

Chapter 24

Adrian

Why the fuck isn’t he answering?

The thought lingers as my gaze drills into my phone as its lays discarded on the coffee table, hands busy as I peel tape back slowly.

A barely noticeable sting runs through the cut on my hand and shoots up into my palm. I barely flinch at it, consumed by tunnel-vision focus on the screen that refuses to light up with Dante’s name.

Fucking bastard.

I told him not to ignore me. I demanded it. Yet I haven’t heard from him for almost a week.

The edge of the cut tightens as it dries, knitting wrong if I rush it. The antiseptic smell lingers on my fingers, sharp and clean, cutting through the stale quiet of my apartment.

The gash isn’t deep enough for stitches—in my opinion—but it’s ugly with a fainted red along the seam, the surrounding skin bruised in a faint yellowing halo. The swelling has gone down for the most part, but it’s still tender when I flex my hand. Shit, I really shouldn’t have gripped that glass shard so hard.

I drag a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic across it again, slower this time, watching the way the skin reacts in a slight blanch before the color returns.

A pressure forms at the back of my skull. The type I can’t redirect as the sensation fills my body in remembrance, forcing its way up my spine. My cheeks burn as the imagery flashes in the corners of my mind. I should file them away and lock the goddam drawer… but I don’t want to. Instead, I sit here on the cold floor watching the scar on my hand, feeling Dante’s touch all over me again. And again. AND AGAIN.

The man had me so wound up that night, I could barely think straight and dare I say… nervous. Shit, I’ve never been nervous before. I wanted him so badly—badly enough that every sensible part of my brain went haywire and I couldn’t fully go through with it. Not that what followed wasn’t satisfactory. Hell, I’ve never felt that good before.

I shake my head as if dislodging cobwebs before wrapping the wound again. I flex my hand, watching the pull of skin under the bandage.

It distracts for half a second.

Then it doesn’t.

I pick up my phone, thumb hovering over the screen before unlocking it. Our conversation came to a complete halt. We spoke about everything, every day, every hour ever since he finger fucked me senseless against that glass tabletop.

I toss the phone back onto the table harder than necessary. It skids a few centimeters, then stops against the edge. Silence settles again, but my mind refuses to follow suit.

There was no hesitation nor miscalculation when I pressed my mouth to his. What happened that night was my choice. And now I’m stuck with the aftereffect of the way my hands had closed around his throat and how my body had answered to his before I decided to.

Pure alignment unfolded in that moment.

I swallow once, slowly, and drag my attention back to my hand, pressing my thumb into the bandage, letting the stinging pressure ground me with physical input. I exhale through my nose.

There’s no logic in disappearing after establishing a pattern. No advantage in breaking contact now. It doesn’t serve him.

Unless it does.

Unless this is—

I stop the thought before it finishes and push up to my feet, pacing once across the room and back.

He’s doing it on purpose.

I let out a quiet breath, a laugh stripped of humor, and run my tongue over the inside of my cheek.

Things between us have changed… that much I will admit. However, the undeniability of the situation with Dante remains, and I don’t need to name it to understand it.

If this is still a game to him, then it’s time to bleed him out of my system.