Savage Hearts: Chapter 16

“Hello again, little bird. Make a noise, and I’ll break your neck.”

The words are spoken in a deadly soft tone that leaves no doubt he won’t be giving me another white rose anytime soon.

My heart starts to pound. Cold flashes over me. My entire body detonates with panic.

I lie perfectly still, staring up at him in pure terror, convinced I’m about to die.

Or something less pleasant.

Malek slides his hand down to my throat. When I gasp, he squeezes.

“Go ahead,” he whispers, eyes glittering. “Scream. I’ll enjoy silencing it.”

For whatever reason, instead of scaring me more, that comment royally pisses me off. The icy cold that first gripped me now turns to blistering heat.

“This is where I remind you that you gave me your word you wouldn’t hurt me.”

My tone is so scathing, it makes him blink. But he recovers quickly, leaning closer until our noses are almost touching.

“I lied.”

That makes me even angrier. Seething, I glare at him. “Then you’re a piss-poor excuse for a human being. Liars are the worst. You know why? Because they’re cowards. Go ahead and kill me, but be prepared for my ghost to haunt you forever. And when I say forever, I mean it literally. I hold grudges like new mothers hold their infants.”

His eyes flare. So do his nostrils. He can’t believe my nerve.

Neither can I. But apparently, imminent death brings out my inner Ninja who wants to bitch slap everyone in sight.

We breathe angrily at each other until he growls, “You’ve got a big mouth for such a little thing.”

“And you’ve got a little brain for such a big thing. Even if you do kill me, do you really think you’ll get out of this place alive?”

He snaps, “Your bodyguards don’t even know I’m here.”

“That’s what you think. I already hit the panic button next to the bed. You have ten seconds to leave before they charge through the door, guns blazing.”

Through gritted teeth, he says, “There’s no panic button.”

“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

He makes another growling sound. This one comes from deep within his chest. It’s low, rumbling, and dangerous, like the warning of a bear.

He’s infuriated by my attitude. But he also isn’t strangling me, so I think the sass might be a good distraction.

“How’d you get in here, anyway? This place is a fortress.”

“Do you always talk this much when you’re about to die?”

“Yes. I find pre-death conversation relaxing. Answer the question.”

His hand tightening around my throat, he snarls, “You’re not in charge here, little bird.”

I really wish he didn’t smell so good. Or look so good. His attractiveness is unnerving. I gaze up into his blazing green eyes, wondering how it’s possible my sister and I have such terrible taste in men.

It’s a good thing we never met Ted Bundy. Charismatic, violent killers are apparently our thing.

“I realize I’m not in charge, but I’m curious. You seem to be able to walk through walls.”

“Hence the nickname.”

“What does the name Hangman have to do with walking through walls?”

He frowns down at me. “My nickname’s Ghost.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

He pauses to think. His hand is still wrapped around my throat, but its grip has slackened slightly. “Hangman?”

“Yeah. I figured you must be good with a noose.”

“No. I have no idea how to tie that kind of knot.”

“Oh.”

“But I did once strangle a man with his own intestines.”

Feeling queasy, I say, “How creative.”

“Thank you. I thought so.”

We stare at each other. I become acutely aware of his bulk hovering over me, of the heat of his skin burning through his clothing, of the feel of his rough hand on my neck.

“Ten seconds are up. Where are your bodyguards?”

When I don’t respond, he leans close to my ear and says, “Who’s the liar now?”

His voice is low and husky, and his wild, woodsy scent is in my nose. An involuntary shudder runs through me. I close my eyes and moisten my lips, desperate to pull myself together.

“You’re right. There’s no panic button. But I’ll still haunt you forever if you kill me.”

“People don’t come back from the grave.”

“You have no idea how stubborn I am.”

He turns his head, and his beard tickles my cheek. Looking into my eyes, he presses his thumb against the throbbing pulse in my throat then doesn’t do anything for several seconds.

I think he’s counting my heartbeats.

He could also be deciding where to bury my body.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

“I am afraid of you.”

He examines my expression. “Not very much.”

“Does that insult your ego?”

He makes a motion with his head that’s not a yes or a no, but more like a maybe.

“If it will keep you from killing me, I’ll act very scared. I’ll cry and everything.”

He’s starting to look frustrated. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I can’t help it. I really did believe you when you said I wasn’t in danger from you.” I think for a beat. “I mean, mostly. You are pretty scary. And very large. And Spider almost shit himself when I told him I saw you in the bookstore.”

“Spider’s the blond bodyguard who was with you?”

“Yeah. Oh—can I ask you a favor? Will you please not hurt him? Kieran, either. He’s the other bodyguard. The bigger one. They’re both really nice.”

Malek stares at me in disbelief.

“Sorry. Is that asking too much? It’s just that I’d never get over it if they got hurt because of me. They’re only trying to do their jobs.”

After a moment, he says angrily, “You know who I am. You know what I do. Correct?”

“Yes. I’ve been filled in on the particulars.”

“And you’re lying there with my hand around your neck asking me not to hurt your bodyguards.”

He says it like my sanity is in question.

“I know it’s maybe a little unorthodox.”

“No,” he says flatly.

“Please?”

He growls, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“There’s no need to get testy.”

“Testy?”

“I’m just saying. You don’t have to get all mad about it.”

Furious again, he glares at me, grinding his jaw and probably calculating how much pressure it will take to snap the brittle bird bones in my neck.

Before he does, I say, “I also want to thank you for the rose you left me. That was really nice. I’ve never had a man bring me flowers before. I know it was only the one, and also you thought I was a captive prostitute at the time, but still. It was thoughtful. So thank you.”

He stares at me with an expression somewhere between confusion and amazement, with a healthy dose of disgust on the side.

“Now is probably a good time to remind you that I’m still the same person you left the rose for. So if you did kill me, you’d be killing her, too. Just a thought.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“Not at the moment, no. Why, do you have any?”

“There’s something wrong with you. Mentally. Right?”

That makes me laugh. “Oh, totally. I’ve got more than a few screws loose. At least that’s what my dad tells me. But he’s super uptight, zero imagination, so his opinion doesn’t really count. Not that he’s wrong, because he isn’t, but normies shouldn’t judge creatives. They just have no idea how we’re wired. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’ve never had a conversation with an insane person before.”

“Very funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“Ouch.”

We stare at each other in silence. His hostile, mine hopeful.

He still hasn’t murdered me, so things are looking up.

“Malek?”

“What.” He says it flatly. With dread.

“Thank you for not killing me.”

He says emphatically, “Don’t thank me yet.”

“You’re still deciding?”

“If only to get you to shut up, yes.”

“In that case…” I make a zipper motion across my lips.

He watches with outrage, astonishment, and absolute disbelief.

“Actually, before I shut up, I also want to say that it was really sweet that you tried to save me from being a sex worker. I mean, what a gentleman! A gentleman killer who gives strangers big wads of cash in restrooms. You’re quite the puzzle, Mr. Ghost. Or is it just Ghost? I’m never sure how the nickname thing works, except between me and my sister, but that doesn’t count because my whole family is a little weird. I’ll just call you Malek, if that’s all right. Or Mal for short, since we’re such buds now, what with you breaking into my various bedrooms for midnight visits and all. Okay, I’m shutting up now. Here I go.”

I press my lips together and gaze up at him, watching him struggle with dueling urges to cut off my air supply or break something over my head.

Maybe he’s right about me being insane, because rather than terrifying, I find his indecision understandable.

He’s not the first man I’ve driven to the brink of murder. He’s just the most capable of actually going through with it.

“Oh, one more thing—”

“I know a way to keep that mouth quiet,” he snaps.

Then he kisses me.