Butcher & Blackbird (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #1)(53)
Rose’s suspicious glare slices between us. She deliberates for a long moment before she pulls a phone from her pocket, her knife still pointed in our direction and her eyes straying from us only long enough to select a contact to call. I can hear the faint ring as she presses the phone to her ear, then my brother’s muffled greeting.
“There’s a beat-up chick here with a tall guy claiming to be your brother. He stole my fucking crutch,” Rose bites out. She falls silent as Fionn says something in the background, and her eyes then fix to me like lasers. She jerks her chin once in my direction. “He’s asking to confirm your childhood nickname.”
Blood drains from my extremities as my gaze darts to Sloane. I shake my head. “No.”
That seems to delight the hellcat—Rose’s responding smile is fucking feral. “Great. Then I knife you in the balls.”
“Yeah? Hobble over here and try it,” I snarl. I try to poke her with the rubber end of the crutch but Sloane bats it away.
“For fucksakes, you two. I’ve got a messed up arm here. I need a doctor,” Sloane says, shifting side-to-side at the waist to give a demo of her limp appendage. She turns enough to give me one sad-puppy eye. The longer she stares at me, the more my resolve crumbles. Her lower lip juts out in a pout, and even though it might be fake, I know I’m a fucking goner. “Help me, Man-guy.”
A long groan rumbles in my chest as I drag a hand over my face. “Fuck. Fine.” Both women watch me with unwavering stares, their eyebrows hiked in anticipation. “Shitflicker.”
They face one another. There’s a moment of blessed silence.
And then a fit of giggles.
Rose relays my response back to Fionn and I hear him cackling on the line before he gives her some clipped instructions and disconnects the call. She pockets her phone and sheathes the blade as Sloane tugs the crutch free of my grip and passes it over to her.
Great. These two are going to be best friends now. Just what I need.
“Okay, Shitflicker. I guess you passed the test. Fionn will be home in fifteen to sort you out.”
“Hold on a second. You haven’t told us why the fuck you’re here,” I say as Rose rakes a dismissive smirk over my features.
“Maybe I’m Fionn’s Girl-chick, Mr. Man-guy Flick-a-shit.”
Sloane snorts a laugh. I take her good elbow, guiding her to the couch as I keep my glare pinned on Rose. “God help us all.”
Rose hobbles away on her crutches, muttering something about ‘worse than the circus’, whatever the fuck that means. I watch as she makes her way to the dining table, and when I’m satisfied she won’t chase after us with a crutch and a knife the size of a machete, I refocus on Sloane. I help her drag some pillows under her left side so she can find a comfortable position on the overstuffed couch, but I know what it’s like to be so exhausted you’re desperate to rest, yet so in pain that it seems like a distant reality. When she seems as settled as she can manage, I kneel in front of her and sweep her raven locks back from her face.
“Drink?” I ask, and she nods, her eyes pinched with the pain that settles in as her adrenaline wanes. “What do you want?”
The space between her brows crinkles as her pretty hazel eyes hold mine, her pain tugging at my chest.
“I want…” She trails off as her eyes dart away and back again. Then her dimple pops out. That fucking thing is like a beacon of mischief. I barely manage to suppress a groan. “I want to know how the Shitflicker name came to be.”
“Sloane,” I warn.
“Was it your own shit you flicked, or someone else’s? Regularly? And like…why?”
Her diabolical mask falters when I lean forward and brace a hand to either side of her knees. “You’re lucky you’re injured.”
Sloane gives me a smug little grin. Fuck, I want that smart mouth and those plump lips wrapped around my cock so badly it aches. “Oh yeah?” she snarks. “Why’s that?”
I drift closer still. Push into her space. She resists the urge to sink deeper into the cushions as her breath hitches. My hand folds around her throat, one finger at a time pressing into her skin, her pulse like music beneath my palm. She shivers when my lips graze the shell of her ear. “Because I’d bend you over my knee and spank that perfect ass of yours until it glows. And then do you wanna know what I’d do?”
She gives me a shaky nod. Three uneven breaths. “Yes,” she whispers.
“I’d teach you a lesson about wanting. About wanting to come so badly you have to beg for it.” My cock hardens as Sloane’s blood surges against my fingertips. “And once I was sure you’d learned that lesson, I’d teach you about wanting to stop coming so badly you beg for that too.”
Sloane’s hummingbird pulse sets my blood on fire, her faint ginger scent marred by sweat and blood and her lingering fear. I wonder if she realizes how easily I could crush her delicate windpipe. I wonder if she thinks about how she’s caught in the grip of a killer who is just as deadly as she is.
“You’re trembling, little bird.”
In a flash of movement, I let her go and tower over her. My cock begs for relief as I take in her blushed cheeks, her rapid breathing. Her fingers graze her neck, a light trace of motion across her pinked flesh as though she misses my touch.
When her eyes meet mine, I give her a dark grin, one full of confidence. Full of promises. “Maybe you should start practicing your begging, love. Might not bring you back a drink otherwise.”