A testament to the horrors she survived.
She won't look at me as she picks up the severed head and stomps over to the pen with one monstrous pig inside and nearly launches it in.
The pig wastes no time cracking open the skull. I’m standing right beside its pen, so I shift a few feet away to avoid the spray of blood while Molly angrily marches back toward the table. I watch her silently as she repeats the process with the torso and both legs .
I’ve lost my patience by the time she snatches one of the arms from the nearly empty table, then stomps back toward me, preparing to throw it in one of the pens. I grab onto her bicep before she does. Whether it's instinct or because she likes to beat people with spare limbs when she's pissed, her arm whips out, and the bloody arm comes careening toward my head.
I duck out of the way, though I'm not spared from blood spattering across my face. I grab onto her wrist, meeting her searing glare.
“Did I say something to piss you off, my little ghost?” I ask wickedly.
She snarls and tugs on her arm, failing to tear it out of my grip.
She looks like she wants to run again, peering at me like an animal backed into a corner. Her flight mode is activated, and I have no fucking qualms with hunting her down.
“You have no right!” she shouts, panting heavily as she seethes at me. “You don't get to come back into my life and start demanding things from me. The only thing you get to do is bring me pig food, and then you leave.”
The fire in her green eyes is captivating. Fuck, I'm so enthralled.
“You're breathtaking,” I murmur.
She blinks at me, taken aback and speechless for several moments.
“W-what? Why would you say that?”
Because staring into her eyes is the only thing I needed, to convince myself she's everything I'll ever want for as long as oxygen invades my lungs. I knew it deep in my bones the day I met her. Even back then, my soul immediately recognized hers as its other half .
“Because I'd tell you anything,” I answer. “There's not a single thing I'd be able to keep from you. Especially when you look so goddamn beautiful.”
Her hand slackens, shock colored on every inch of her ethereal face.
I take advantage and slide the severed arm out of her hold. Then, I toss it across the barn and into one of the pigpens.
She glances to the side, seemingly trying to gather herself.
“You're going to find every drop of blood that went past the plastic and clean it up. This is an active crime scene that can never look like one when they're done eating.”
I grin, and her stare latches onto my mouth, her own lips parting subconsciously.
“That must mean I'm not allowed to leave yet,” I drawl lazily.
She wrinkles her nose in distaste at my comment, then attempts to extract her wrist from my grip again. I don't release her—won't release her. Holding her is too addictive, and I haven't had nearly enough.
“Let me go, Cage,” she demands breathlessly, tugging her arm more insistently.
“I've already done that once,” I say, tugging her into my chest roughly. Her gasp feathers across my chest, setting the muscle inside aflame. I lower my mouth to her ear, evoking a shiver that overtakes the entirety of her body. “I'm not doing it again.”
“Cage,” she squeaks out, even as my lips are already tracing the soft outer shell of her ear, where a dainty gold ring is pierced. Her skin is spotless from blood here, and I intend to take advantage of that. I flick my tongue against the metal, and another helpless sound emits from her throat.
And that's what makes her so goddamn exciting. She's not helpless, but I sure as fuck like it when she plays the part.
“We can't do this,” she insists, her words airy and lacking conviction.
“Not this, either?” I query before catching the piercing between my teeth and sucking it gently.
Her other hand flies to my chest, her bloody glove covering my shirt in crimson.
I retreat just far enough to whisper, “Now we're going to need to burn that.”
She swallows thickly, the sound audible yet quiet.
It seems to take her a second to gather herself, and then she's croaking, “Then take it off.”
I assess her closely to ensure she's not fucking with me, but she keeps her gaze locked onto the bloody handprint over my heart. She could be lying, planning to bolt the second I release her.
Deciding that I wouldn't mind the chase, I unlock my fingers from her wrist, one digit at a time.
Her chest heaves, and my cock strains against my zipper, imagining how hard her nipples must be beneath her suit. I intend to find out.