Page 61 of Brutal
Fifteen years ago.
Something happened that night that didn’t make it into any official report.
And now someone knows I’m getting close.
A knock hits the door. I jump without meaning to.
I walk to the door and look through the peephole.
Samson Vexley. He’s still wearing the dark suit without a tie, the shirt open at the collar. He clearly followed me.
“What do you want?” I ask through the door.
“Let me in, Delaney.”
Why not? He kissed me on the subway, and my lips are still tingling from it.
I open the door.
He walks in and immediately scans the place, taking everything in. When he finally looks at me, his amber eyes are heavy-lidded. “You need to stop,” he says.
“No.” The word comes out before I even think about it.
“Delaney—”
“No.” I step forward. Close the distance. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
His eyes darken.
Not anger.
Something heavier.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he says.
“You keep saying things like that,” I tell him.
“Because it’s true.”
He’s probably not wrong. I mean, someone clearly searched my place today. While I was out, doing more research?—
“Who was here?” I demand. “Who broke into my apartment?”
But he doesn’t reply. Instead, he advances. Grips my shoulders hard. Enough to startle the hell out of me. Enough to bruise.
“How dare?—”
He shoves me back against the wall, and this time it hurts. But before I can protest, his mouth is on mine, his tongue demanding entrance.
I keep my lips locked tight, even as my body betrays me, aching to let him in.
He moves to my ear. “You think this is something you can walk away from,” he whispers. “It’s not.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Then what do you think?”
I think I hate you. And God, I think I want you to kiss me.
