Then, she says, “They want me dead.”
I shake my head, staggered at how she came to the conclusion. “I assume Grayson and London want us both dead,” I confess. “But first, they want us to get rid of any connection tying Grayson to the subjects.”
“Victims,” she says.
“I’m not delusional.” I sink my fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. Then I take what’s right before me, what’s been taunting me since the moment I laid eyes on her.
I slant my mouth over hers and kiss Blakely with the hunger of a starved man. Delusional or not, when her lips crash against mine, I feel the alignment of our system, and I know she feels it, too.
As we move in sensual tandem, inhaling and exhaling each other, her tongue slips over mine and sends a wild craving coursing my veins. It’s sheer bliss and torment, the burning desire only heightened, never extinguished.
Her teeth nip at my broken lip before she bites down into the kiss. The sharp pain webs through me like lightning cracking the sky, and I taste the metallic trace of blood. She tears free, her breaths ragged and eyes wild. Then her fist makes contact.
9
Ours is Mad
Blakely
Pain explodes along my knuckles and radiates up my arm. My fingers feel smashed from the impact of my fist meeting Alex’s cheek. But the hurt is so damn good, cathartic.
His face shifts sideways. He leaves his head in that position, letting the pain simmer as he licks blood from his bitten lip.
My lungs are on fire as I drag in a full, searing breath. The atmosphere of the bathroom starts to filter in with the muffled punch of bass from the club next door. The walls rattle, the dim fluorescents above flicker. As my senses slowly return, my mouth is hot and swollen, and I wipe the back of my hand across my aching lips.
A deviant part of me rises to the surface at the taste of Alex’s blood in my mouth, igniting a hunger for more violence.
I pump my hand, working out the throb in my fingers. “That was satisfying.”
Alex spits a red stream before leveling me with intense blue eyes. “We have different definitions of that word.” He pushes to his feet and stares down at me. “Do you need to hit me again, or was that finally enough?”
“Not even close.” My heart tears a wild path through my chest as I scramble to stand and pull back my fist to land another strike, all restraint shattered.
Every volatile emotion swirled into a chaotic vortex as his lips caressed mine, taking me to those dangerous, heightened cliffs where I fear losing control.
That can’t happen.
I breathe through the rush. Adrenaline scorches my veins like flame to fuel. My skin is heated and stretched too tight, an itch digging beneath my flesh.
As I step into the swing, Alex doesn’t allow me to get a hit in so easily this time. He expertly blocks my fist and slaps my forearm aside, leaving him a clear shot to my face.
He hesitates.
His eyes capture mine.
With a breathless curse, he moves in and grabs me around my waist. Arm banded around my back, he hitches my ass up onto the counter and forces his hips between my legs.
His cologne assaults my senses, that aquatic fragrance that reminds me of fresh river water. The warmth of his body heat touches every pulse point, making my nerves spark. I’m violent as I try to tear away from him, hating him, hating myself, for what’s happening to my body.
“Get the fuck away—” I nail a fisted hand against his shoulder.
“You keep coming at me.” He seizes my bruised hands and locks them between us. “Fuck, Blakely. I don’t want to hurt you.” His breath slices the air, those vibrant pale-blue eyes piercing me.
A manic laugh rises up from the base of my throat. “It’s a little late for that. The damage is done.” I shake my hair from my eyes, fixing him with a hard stare. “And now that you have a deranged killer threatening my life, I say there’s nothing left to do but tear each other apart. At least I can get my revenge before Grayson turns me into some insane trap.”
His features soften, understanding bleeding through the heated tension. “You forget who reached out to the psycho couple in the first place,” he says, accusation clear in his tone. “What did you tell Dr. Noble? It had to be good to have her patient this interested in us.”
Some of the fire within me dissipates. Obviously, what I told London made its way to Grayson. I didn’t realize this was a risk, or consider the consequence of Alex and me having to face off against a vigilante. Not until after London left my hotel suite. I realized only too late the two of them might be involved.
“Everything that’s happened after the moment you stuck a needle in my neck is on your head, Alex.” Righteous fury slits my gaze. I hope my eyes flay him.
His features draw tight. “I’m going to fix this.”
“You can’t fix this. You can’t even fix me. I killed a man,” I say harshly under my breath. “My brain is wrong. I’m wrong.” I shake my head, acceptance weakening my resolve.
His hands fall to my hips. “Tell me what happened.”
My eyes close against the flash of memory. I haven’t spoken in depth about that night to anyone, and Alex is the last person I want to confide in. But he’s the cause; he did this to my brain. If there’s a chance he can glean one vital peace of information that can undo what’s been done…
So I tell him about my mission to complete the Ericson job. About following Ericson to his apartment building. The cry for help I heard in the alley, and how it affected me, forced me down that dark passageway.
“He was strangling her,” I say, recalling the abuse I witnessed, how I feared Ericson would actually kill the woman. “And when her eyes met mine… I don’t know. I don’t remember all the details. One moment he came at me, then his back was turned.” I take a staggering breath. “I reached into my bag, then I was stabbing him. Blood all over my hands.”
I turn my face away, as if I can avoid the barrage of images assailing me. Alex touches my chin, gently coaxing my gaze on him. “It was self-defense, then.”
I jerk my head out of his hold. “No. I know that much. Something fractured inside my head. The rage I felt, I’d never experienced anything like it before. I was out of control.”
“And that terrified you the most,” he says, and I hate the way his eyes brim with understanding.
I sniff back the burning threat of furious tears, a mocking laugh falls free. “Yes. I fucking hate not being in control of my thoughts, my emotions, my actions. What the fuck else am I capable of?”
His hands fist the slim give of my jeans along my hips, tugging me closer to him. Heat pools between my thighs where his body touches mine, and I fight the urge to wrap my legs around him.
I’ve seen all shades of Alex before. The gullible nerd. The intelligent scientist. The insane mad scientist. The smoldering man fighting carnal need. The remorseful sinner he became when faced with his demons.
But I’ve never seen the darkness pit out his eyes the way it is now, reminding me of his room of clocks, a hollow void of blackness.
“Alex, what?” I demand. “What aren’t you telling me?”