Chapter 7

My features must betray the rage I’m feeling because her smile dies on her lips.

I clench my fists.

The water from the washing machine continues to leak out, now brushing against my ankles.

I should fucking strangle this little heathen. Wrap my hands around her neck until the life seeps out of her features.

Or, even better, I should just grab her, wet as a rag as she is, and dump her in the freezing cold. Then I’d stand at my window and watch as the water droplets slowly turn into icicles and the color of her pallor changes to blue.

It would be nothing less than she deserves.

I take a step forward, ready to throw her over my shoulder and have my way with her—just not in the manner in which she undoubtedly desires.

Her lips tremble as she regards me and she does her best to give me a reassuring smile.

It won’t work.

I’m angry, sleep-deprived, and on the brink of a mental breakdown. All because this slip of a girl decided to turn my house upside down. And the main issue is that I allowed her to.

Fuck. I should have never gotten involved with her in the first place. I should have minded my fucking business on that road and ignored her signs of distress.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I’m now one step away from losing my calm—something I usually try to avoid at all costs.

I spot a towel by the washing machine and grab it, thinking I could use it to smother her. As I step toward her, however, instead of wrapping the material around her neck or suffocating her with it, I drop it in her lap.

“Your hair is wet.”

Her mouth hangs open in shock as she stares at me. Her reaction is delayed, but she eventually takes the towel and wraps it around her hair, murmuring a low thank you.

“Are you going to sit in this puddle the entire night?” I comment when I note she’s not making an effort to move.

“Uhm…” She looks left and right. What the hell is there to be indecisive about?

Shaking my head, I lean and offer her my hand.

Her eyes widen. She bites her lower lip as she reluctantly reaches out and places her hand in mine. I pull her up. But the invasion of bubbles has other plans.

I must have moved my foot while pulling her up because one moment she’s halfway up, the next I feel my heel slip on the slick liquid. In my attempt to balance myself, I pull her down with me, and we both crash to the floor.

The water makes a loud, splashing noise.

My clothes become as drenched as hers, the water seeping into the material. The bubbly liquid reaches my skin, settling in an uncomfortable layer on top of it.

I’m on my back, blinking as I stare at the ceiling.

Minnie is by my side, half of her body on top of me. I can feel her weight and the way her chest moves up and down as she breathes.

She’s still breathing. Because I didn’t kill her when I should have.

And now here I am. Not only in the middle of a disaster of epic proportions but also wet to my bones.

Bathing in detergent-diluted water has never been on my bucket list before regardless of my obsession with cleanliness. And considering the way it sticks to my skin, it’s never going to be either.

Her hand is draped across my midriff. She fists the wet material of my shirt as she brings herself closer to me. She brings her head to my chest, nuzzling her face against my exposed skin.

What the hell is this woman doing?

“Minnie,” I say her name, my voice harsh.

“Yes?” she asks innocently.

She grabs onto my side and moves her entire body on top of me, resting her head on my chest and regarding me from beneath her lashes.

Which she flutters.

Repeatedly.

I narrow my eyes at her.

“What the hell are you doing?” I grit out.

She gives me a smile as she continues to flutter her lashes.

She’s on top of me. Her body is flush against mine.

She’s wet. So am I.

The white shirt she’s wearing is almost transparent at this point, and I can make out the shape of her ass as she wiggles on top of me.

Fucking hell.

I must be going mad because for a moment, I can’t tear my eyes from that sight.

Just for a moment.

I shake myself and grab her. In the span of a few seconds, our positions are reversed. She’s on her back and I’m on top of her. This time, my hand is around her throat as it should have been from the beginning. My fingers massage her pulse before I start applying pressure.

But she doesn’t react.

If anything, she keeps looking at me with a mix of curiosity and innocence. Good grief, does she not recognize the danger she’s in? Does she not realize that in less than one second I could snap her slender neck with barely any effort?

She keeps staring at me.

Deeply. Penetrating.

Her eyes on mine.

She doesn’t blink, nor move.

She just stares.

As if one look from her could communicate what words cannot.

They’re dark, her eyes. So, so dark. Even with the light reflecting from above, they’re like two bottomless pits of tar.

As if following her cue, my eyes, too, don’t move.

I don’t blink, nor move.

I stay like that, with my hand around her throat and with my eyes on hers.

Everything blurs in the background until there’s only one perpendicular line of contact, from my irises to hers. As if there’s a whole other world behind our retinas—one that seeks to speak and to be listened to.

Even my breathing slows down until I’m not sure if I’m breathing at all anymore.

There’s something unnatural about my stillness—about the fact that I can’t bring myself to tighten my hold over her lovely neck and kill her once and for all.

I force my muscles to react, but they fail me.

I’m trapped.

Trapped by two black eyes that are sucking the soul out of me.

It’s only when she finally blinks that the spell is broken and I’m once more in control of myself. Yet it’s in vain as I soon realize that this position, though a good idea when my intent was to kill her, now works against me. Her legs are spread, and my body is cradled between her thighs.

Her so very warm thighs.

The heat is so potent, it transfers through the wet material of my pants until it reaches my skin.

A groan escapes me.

This is dangerous.

She is dangerous.

I tighten my hold over her neck. Her lips part, and she blows hot air against my lips.

My eyes widen, and once more, I find myself caught in a maddening spell.

Before I can once more recover and bring my plan to fruition, she surprises me.

Again.

Out of nowhere, she grabs a fistful of bubble water and throws it at me. A giggle follows. Then more splashes of water.

“What…”

I release her, shielding my eyes instead. She continues her bubbly assault, and I can do nothing but withstand it for I’m too shocked to even move.

“You lose,” she adds in between giggles.

Somehow, I end up standing in the rising puddle, my body frozen in place and my anger simmering on the inside.

Water keeps splashing against my body as she continues this game, but I don’t even try to dodge the bubbles anymore.

Because a sudden realization dawns on me.

I’m losing.

I’m allowing this damn little heathen to turn my house and my routine upside down, and I can’t even do what I do best—kill.

For fuck’s sake. What the hell is wrong with me?

She prepares to throw another fistful of bubbly water, but just as she throws her arm back, I catch her wrist. I pull her forward, my gaze icy.

My lip twitches in annoyance.

“Are you done?”

She feigns innocence as she shrugs lazily while still batting her lashes at me.

“Are you?” she counters.

“What are you talking about?” I frown.

Without wrenching her wrist free from my hand, she leans in.

Our noses are almost touching.

“You need to relax, Marlowe,” she whispers, her voice suddenly a different flavor from before—still sweet but somehow veiled in confidence. “You’re too tense. When is the last time you’ve had fun?”

That sobers me up.

I narrow my eyes at her.

“I don’t do fun,” I grit out and push her off me.

She falls in the puddle of water with a splash.

Finally cured of this momentary insanity, I get up and wring my shirt dry.

“I’ll put a mop and a bucket by the door. I want this mess cleaned up within an hour,” I tell her sternly.

She regards me curiously, but I don’t stick around to hear her reply. I turn my back and leave the laundry room, heading straight for my suite to take a shower and wash this pollution off my skin.

When an hour on the dot has passed and I’m freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, I go downstairs to check on Minnie’s progress.

To my surprise, the entire laundry room is spotless, and Minnie appears to be halfway dry. She’s changed into another of the shirts I gave her, and the washing machine is once more running normally.

I grunt a reluctant approval.

Perhaps not all hope is lost.

What is lost, however, is my sleep.

The sun has already risen, and I hate sleeping while the sun is up. That means I’ll have to face the day sleep-deprived.

I let out a loud sigh.

That’s what I get for trying to be kind.

“Come,” I tell her, motioning toward the kitchen.

She regards me for a moment, perhaps waiting for some praise, which will not be forthcoming. Eventually, she follows behind.

She hesitantly takes a seat at the table while I move around the kitchen and start the coffee machine.

“Coffee?” I ask, glancing back at her.

She’s fidgeting with her fingers on the counter.

“Do you want coffee?” I ask again.

She bites her lip.

“I’ve never had it before,” she answers slowly.

I nod, then go about making two cups of coffee. I take mine black but just in case, I rummage for some milk and sugar and place them on the table. When the coffee is done, I hand her one cup and take a seat across from her and drink my own.

She watches the steam rising from the cup with an odd amount of curiosity before she leans down to sniff the liquid. She scrunches her nose.

After a few moments of deliberating, though, she brings the cup to her lips and takes a sip.

“Ew,” she cries out, making a face and pushing the cup away from her.

A smile pulls at my lips. I expected that. Perhaps I didn’t warn her on purpose—payback for being a messy little heathen.

“How can you drink that?” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

My lip twitches.

Has she no concept of etiquette?

“Here,” I say and point to the milk and sugar. “You can sweeten it and add milk.”

She’s skeptical, but I’ll give her bonus points for not giving up.

She takes the sugar and dumps almost half the container in the coffee. She then takes the milk and fills the cup to the brim.

My eyes widen.

What in the diabetic coma is this?

Satisfied, she takes the cup once more and takes a sip.

I wait for her to screw her face up in disgust again. Any normal person would after that amount of sugar.

“Oh, this is nice!” she exclaims. Placing both hands on the cup, she takes another long sip, smacking her lips together as if it’s the most delicious thing in existence. Then she just downs the entire thing in one go.

I glance at my cup. I’ve barely taken a few sips and she’s already finished.

Once more, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and lets out a satisfied moan.

“May I have more?”

“More?”

“It’s so good. Sweet. I like sweet things.”

I don’t.

“I suppose you can have another,” I grumble, getting up and fixing her another cup.

Like before, she pours the rest of the sugar container before adding milk to the brim. Then she drinks it in big, greedy gulps.

I’m halfway through my cup when she’s done with her second.

“May I?—”

“That’s enough, Minnie,” I cut her off, already anticipating her question. “If you’ve never had coffee before, then you likely don’t know how you react to caffeine. You may have some more later.”

She pouts before eventually nodding.

The washing machine finishes up its schedule, and I show her how to operate the dryer.

After that, I tell her the plan for the day.

“We’ll go shopping for clothes for you first.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but I shush her.

“You don’t have to worry about money. I will not expect anything in return either except for you to abide by my rules—which you have ignored so far.”

“Sorry,” she murmurs, averting her gaze.

“You may buy a full outfit for each day of the week, warm coats, boots, and whatever else you need.”

Girls need a lot of stuff, don’t they? Not that I’m an expert, but my mother has a closet the size of a two-bedroom apartment.

“Do I need so many things?” Her voice holds a tinge of wonder.

“I will not allow you to wear dirty clothes again,” I tell her sternly.

“But—”

“No buts. We leave as soon as your jeans are dried.”

And with that, I end the conversation. Knowing the dryer cycle will take another half an hour, I head to my room to change my clothes for the day. I put on a pair of slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black sweater on top of it. I grab my watch from my nightstand and fasten it around my wrist, then add a touch of cologne.

I may not like to go out and interact with people. But if I have to, then I must at least make an effort to look presentable.

Before I head downstairs to meet Minnie, I grab a merino wool cardigan from my closet. My sweaters would be too big on her, but this should work.

To my surprise, Minnie is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. She’s wearing her jeans and my white shirt tucked in the band of her pants. It still looks oversized, but somehow, she makes it appear chic.

“Here,” I say and hand her the cardigan. “It’s too cold to go out in just a shirt.”

She murmurs a low thank you as she takes the cardigan from my hands. But instead of putting it on, she first brings it to her nose and inhales deeply. She nuzzles her face against it for a solid five seconds before she smiles and shrugs it on.

Odd.

She’s too odd.

Perhaps she wanted to make sure it was clean?

Alas. I don’t think I want to know what goes inside that messy brain of hers.

The cardigan reaches her knees, but she somehow makes it work.

There’s only one more issue.

Her shoes—or lack thereof. She’s still wearing the slides from before, but that’s unacceptable in this weather.

My lips flatten as I contemplate what we could do.

“What’s your shoe size?”

“Uhm…” she stammers. Grabbing one of her slides, she reads the number on the sole. “Five.”

I nod, filing that information away for future use. Until then, however, she needs socks, which I’m generous enough to lend to her. At least this way her toes won’t freeze off.

With that done, we go to the garage and get in my car.

Next stop, a department store.

Minnie is rather quiet the entire journey. She’s staring out the window with a look of pure wonder. She marvels at every single thing on the highway.

On the fucking highway. What is there to even see?

I find myself scowling the more she reacts to her surroundings, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m not scowling because she’s a rather ignorant little chit but because her attention is not on me.

“Minnie,” I call her name.

Her head turns to me, her brows going up in question.

“What’s your last name? You didn’t mention it.”

“Oh.” Her eyes flare with concern. “My last name…” She trails off, her hands in her lap, her fingers working furiously buttoning and unbuttoning the cardigan.

She’s…nervous.

Why?

I should have asked her this earlier so I could do a background check on her. Why did I not think of it last night? I let the little heathen sleep in my house, for fuck’s sake. You’d think I’d take more precautions with something so important.

Yet that never once crossed my mind.

My hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“A-A…”

“A?” I raise an eyebrow.

She gulps down.

“An’yan.”

“Minnie An’yan?”

She nods.

Interesting.

Looking forward to see what the internet has to say about you, Minnie An’yan.

We arrive in the city and soon park at Bloomingdale’s.

My mother shops there. And if nothing else, at least I can trust her fashion choices.

A valet comes to take our car, but as we get out, he seems to forget his duties as his eyes become glued to Minnie.

He has a silly smile on his face as he makes a beeline toward her.

What the fuck?

Minnie’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back, surprising me when she uses me as her shield.

“You’re so beautiful, miss,” he gushes in a sickeningly sweet voice. He barely notices me, or if he does, he pays me no mind. His focus is entirely on Minnie. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he continues.

I frown and glance at her.

The most beautiful woman? I scoff. This man needs to get his eyes checked. Her features are pleasant and I might even call her pretty when she’s freshly showered, but the most beautiful? That’s stretching it.

Minnie wraps her fingers around my arm and gives me a worried look.

At the same time, the valet continues walking toward us. It’s almost as if Minnie is his entire focus, and nothing can shake that. Not even the honking of cars or the fact that I’m raising my voice at him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He ignores me.

It’s almost as if he’s bespelled as he continues to spout nonsense about how beautiful Minnie is.

“I must touch you,” he suddenly says. He reaches with his arm forward, but I don’t give him time to do anything as I catch his arm and twist it behind his back, all the while keeping Minnie behind me and away from him.

“The only thing you’ll touch is a wooden casket, if you’re lucky,” I tell him in a low voice. “Now get lost before I decide to bury you alive—no casket for you.”

Minnie is completely shielded by my body at this point, and I note that the man finally gets to his senses. His eyes are wide with shock as he regards me.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” he stammers.

I pin him with my gaze, and that’s enough to get him moving. He puts distance between us, all the while apologizing and making excuses for his behavior.

When he’s a few steps away, he all but dashes inside. It takes a few moments for a different valet to come out to help us, this time a woman.

She, too, apologizes for her coworker.

I give her the car keys and ignore her babbling. Taking Minnie’s hand in mine, I lead her to the entrance of the department store.

“Are you okay?” I ask when we get to the lobby. It’s early in the morning on a weekday, so there are not too many people around.

She strains a smile.

“Yes. Just a little shaken,” she whispers.

“Don’t worry. As long as you’re with me, nothing will happen to you. No one will touch you, all right?”

Thoughtless idiot! What the hell are you promising her?

But just the way her face lights up makes me glad I said those words and I promptly push my inner voice aside. Perhaps for once, I should let my instinct lead me rather than my intellect.

“That’s kind of you,” she murmurs shyly, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. “But…” She takes a deep breath. “As long as you’re with me, that will keep happening.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, perplexed.

“Men,” she answers with a defeated shrug. “They see me and they…want me.”

What?

I blink.

Then I throw my head back and laugh.

This little heathen has quite the sense of humor.