Watching her closely, I slowly remove my leather jacket, having enough foresight to throw it away from the blood. Then, I grab the back of my collar and pull the soft fabric over my head.
Immediately, her burning stare falls to my bare chest, then onto my stomach, tracing every muscle I've worked my ass off for. The industry I work in doesn't allow for weak muscles and little strength. Criminals are my clients, and, at any moment, I may have to defend myself. There have been plenty of times when I have had to.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip as she dissects every inch of my exposed flesh.
“I don't…” She licks her lips again, this time nervously. “I don't remember you having that many muscles before.”
I quirk a brow. “Baby, I was twenty-seven the last time you saw me shirtless. A lot has changed since then.”
“Right,” she mumbles, once more distracted by the view.
I close the space between us, biting my lip to contain my devilish smile as her breath stutters from her throat.
“I want you to show me what has changed with you, but I also want to see what’s the same.” Her next swallow is audible. “Does that spot between your tits still get red when you come?”
I crowd into her, instigating by bumping my chest against hers and inhaling her sweet vanilla and cinnamon scent. It mingles with the unmistakable smell of copper, which only serves to make her more enticing.
Molly is painted in blood, and I want her to cover me in it, too.
She stumbles, a small whimper reaching my ears. It isn't born of fear or weakness but of a woman overcome with her emotions.
Before she can overthink all the reasons this is a bad idea, I grab the zipper at the hollow of her neck and pull down, the teeth breaking apart the only backdrop to her uneven breathing.
The material parts to reveal heaving breasts covered by a thin, white tank top. She shrugs out of it, the oversized gloves effortlessly falling off with the yellow suit. Then, it falls down her legs completely, revealing tiny black shorts and toned, long legs .
She’s tall, at least five-ten, and has the most delicious curves. She’s fucking perfect for me. Every little facet of her was designed just for me.
Chewing on her bottom lip, she steps out of the suit, along with her black rubber boots, and kicks them to the side.
Barefoot and defenseless, yet she stands like a trained killer, and I know her most valuable weapons are her hands.
She’s fucking beautiful.
A loud bang from the pens disturbs the tense silence, causing Molly to startle. The pigs are demanding to be fed again.
“We're all hungry, baby. Who are you going to feed first?” I ask wickedly before gliding my tongue across my bottom lip.
I'm fucking starving.
She doesn't remove her challenging gaze as she deliberately steps away and toward the metal table. I can sense how predatory my own stare is, but the red flush crawling up to her cheeks indicates she doesn't mind being my prey.
She grabs the last remaining body part from the table—another arm. Then, she walks it over to one of the pens where two pigs eagerly await the last of their meal. The others are still working their way through the torso and legs.
Maintaining eye contact, she holds out the arm and drops it in, blood spraying across the hay as they tear it apart.
I stride toward her, my own blood heating as she worries her bottom lip and her hands begin to fidget.
“You know, your pets would tear you apart in seconds with all that nervous energy,” I comment, amusement coloring my tone.
She narrows her eyes. “Then it's so fortunate for me that I know how to defend myself.”
I grin, the act as devilish as my intentions.
I round her, sliding my chest against her back as I lean down to whisper in her ear. “You must be frightening.”
“I am,” she insists, though her voice is breathless, and another tremor is working its way down her spine.
I hum, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.
Again, she shivers.
“Then show me, my little ghost.”
Molly
Present
2022
I have tunnel vision.
There's only a sliver of light, the small orb blurring as I process his challenging words.
Then show me.
Show him years upon years of practice that I never utilized because I refused to put myself in a situation where I'd have to. Yet here I am.
A dangerous man at my back demanding to see what I'm made of. The honest answer is trauma, sadness, and scars that I can't bear to look at. But I still feel them.
Just as I do the predator breathing down my neck.
I wait a few moments, each second ticking in my pulse, and then I'm twisting at the waist and sending my elbow flying toward his mouth.