Lady Killer (Dead Girls Club #2)

22. Nixon

Chapter twenty-two

Nixon

I fucking loved the smell of pot. Or cannabis as we were supposed to call it now.

Stubbing the cherry out on the antique ottoman my feet rested on, I watched the leather turn black and then burn away.

What was it the gay guy said in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil ? New money would fix that shit right away, old money would leave it alone. Guess we’d find out what the Schaefflers really were.

The fumes mixed with the lingering scent of the joint, making my nose burn. I took in a deep breath.

It was the weekend before Valentine’s Day. Ali and Ever had both been insistent on staying near their precious little bitch queen.

“Think, Nixie, think. It’s Valentine’s Day, a large-scale capitalist con job masquerading as a holiday centered around . . . drumroll please, Ali . . . Hearts.”

“When the fuck did it become our job to keep the bitch alive?”

A scalpel flew through the air, passing my ear by millimeters before embedding itself in the painting on the wall.

My painting, of fucking course.

It was like even the mention of her name caused destruction and chaos around me.

And instead of seeing her for the nuisance she was, my entire family had somehow fallen under her spell.

Okay, Locke hated her guts.

Old perv would still fuck her though .

But Ever?

I had never seen him give even the slightest of fucks about anyone other than Lucian, which showed just how deeply his infatuation with the girl ran.

And, Lucian, my big brother, the head of the fucking family and arguably the most ruthless man I knew, found out she’d been playing fucking doctor on Blackwell land, and what did he do? He let her live, and now we were working with her.

But worst of all was Alister. My fucking twin.

I was older than him by six minutes. Six minutes.

It was a speck of dust over the course of a lifetime. But for us, it was everything.

The smell started to fade from the air, and the hum of the party around me filtered back into my consciousness before a smooth feminine voice broke through the last of my haze.

“Nix.”

“Isabella.” I acknowledged her with a tip of my cup.

Fuck, they didn’t even spring for decent vodka.

The tall blonde slid into the seat next to me, crossing her long, exposed legs at the ankle, and wrapping one arm around the back of the couch before tossing her hair over one shoulder.

She was wearing too much perfume.

“Where’s Ali?”

Watching her.

“Why do you think that’s any of your business, Bella ?” I said in a smooth voice, giving her a dashing smile and taking another sip of my drink .

She let loose a peal of giggles that caused her perfectly sculpted breasts to bounce up and down.

Nothing I hadn’t seen a million times before.

“Sorry, Nixon,” she cooed, wiggling in even closer to me. “I’m happy to see you too.”

People thought that, because I wasn’t silent like my twin, I was the nice one.

“What do you want?”

Unless she was looking to catch my load tonight, I really wasn’t interested in whatever she was up to.

The Cantwells were old money. Isabella had been bumping into Ali and me since the Blackwells dragged us away from Mom. She wasn’t a prude, but she also wasn’t the type to fuck around without an endgame.

“You Blackwell boys are all so grumpy. Please tell me that bitch doesn’t have you all twisted up too?” she whined, twirling a strand of hair around one of her fingers.

My hand shot out and yanked it hard.

She screamed, but no one paid attention to her over the music.

“What the fuck, Nixon? These are 100 percent human hair extensions!”

This was the problem with society bitches. They all thought just because we killed for their daddies and grandaddies that it meant we had some kind of connection. It was a business, not a book club.

“I think you forgot who you’re talking to,” I said with one last sharp warning tug.

Her pupils dilated and her nostrils flared. She brushed her breasts across my chest, pressing her nipples into me.

Figures the crazy bitch would be turned on by pain. Maybe I would fuck her, after all.

“I’m sorry, Nixon. I just know that girl has been giving Locke a hard time in class—?”

That made me laugh. I had it on good authority that Locke had been terrorizing Luz from the instant he set eyes on her.

“ . . . and Tracy Lancaster says Alister is always hanging around Jackson College House . . .”

I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her roughly onto my lap.

If she was going to keep making noises, at least she could do it bouncing on my cock.

“Nix!” she squealed, and I let go of her hair to wrap my hand tightly around her throat. She moaned and dry humped my semihard cock.

“Did you come to talk about the other men in my family, or did you come over here for me? ”

“You know I don’t—?” she protested halfheartedly while still riding me.

“I know you’re about thirty seconds from making a mess all over my jeans, and if you do, then I’m taking it out on your ass, so you better put me in that pretty pussy real fast . . .”

She was fumbling with my belt, even though she was still fucking talking. “People will—?”

I squeezed tighter. Fuck. I should have told her to give me a blow job instead.

She took my cock out and wrapped her long fingers around it, stalling briefly when they made contact with the titanium barbell at the base. “Oh, it’s true.”

I ground my teeth.

She began to sloppily work at getting me hard. It took more effort than usual, and I started to wonder if Isabella was just really fucking bad at this.

My grip loosened around her throat as my interest waned, and she somehow took it as permission to start talking again.

“What kind of name is Luzz , anyways?” she said in a nasty voice, enunciating the z .

My cock jumped at the mention of the bitch.

Fucking traitor .

Even as I reprimanded myself, my mouth ripping open in a growl. “It’s Luz , like loose .”

Isabella’s hair fell in her face, and although it was all wrong, in the darkness of the party, I could imagine a very different woman, and I was suddenly rock hard.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, Nix. My grandparents have this house . . .”

Hell no.

“Six seconds.”

“I don’t have a condom, Nix!”

“Here.” I reached into my pocket and tossed one at her. “Put it on me. Three seconds.”

She yelped and ripped the package open with her teeth before fishing it out and clumsily rolling it down my cock.

Technically, she was over by about four seconds in the end, but I wasn’t a pedantic little bitch like Locke.

Instead, I lifted the granddaughter of Lionel Cantwell, the “Bully Billionaire,” and as I slammed her down on my cock, the only thing I could see in my mind was a pair of hauntingly golden eyes staring me down.

Isabella’s scream pierced my ears as I thrust up into her cunt.

“Oh, fuck, Nixon, fuck!” she cried, trying to wrap her long legs around me to get traction while I continued to thrust hard into her .

It’d been a mistake to remove my hand from her throat.

I replaced it, finally silencing her.

With one hand still on her waist and the other on her neck for leverage, I drove up into her relentlessly while the party raged on around us.

Her tits popped out at some point, and she struggled to try and contain them, but I was bouncing her up and down on my cock too furiously for her to keep them in her dress and they kept flying out.

I closed my eyes and relaxed my head back onto the couch, picturing what my pet would look like if she were here, riding me like a good girl.

Her long black hair pulled up high into a ponytail that fell down her back in waves like a dark waterfall. That perfect tawny skin giving way to dark brown nipples that accentuated her small but perfectly firm breasts. The soft swell of her stomach and the downy hair there carved a nearly invisible path down from her navel, inviting me to the most delicious-looking pussy I had ever seen.

Courtesy of my brother, of course.

I gripped tighter.

It wouldn’t be my hand wrapped around her throat.

No, I’d put the prettiest leather collar around her, although I’d let her keep the gold cross she always wore—I liked the way it hung right in between her tits. She would be the sweetest little pet I’d ever played with . . .

Sharp nails scraped across my face, and I came with a violent moan.

The nails turned to slaps, and I opened my eyes to find Isabella on my cock instead . . . The billionaire heiress’s face was turning red, her eyes beginning to bulge as she struggled in vain for breath.

What was it Ever said?

“Oops,” I said dully as I released her throat and pulled her off my rapidly softening dick, then slid her off my lap.

She landed on the couch next to me and collapsed onto all fours, coughing.

I took the condom off, tied it, and tossed it on the ground next to her before tucking myself back into my briefs, picking my drink up and taking a sip. No point in doing up my pants when you never knew who else might stumble over here tonight.

“What—the—fuck?” Her voice was hoarse in between the coughing breaths she was still taking.

Shit. I really couldn’t kill a Cantwell.

We all had to be on extra good behavior due to Ever’s stunt with those racist bitches who’d talked down to Luz. I’d never admit it to Lucian, but I thought it was pretty funny .

Say what you will about Everest, he’s got a sense of humor.

Isabella was sitting up now, still complaining, and I started rooting around in my pockets for my lighter. My fingers curled around it, and an instant sense of relief rushed through me.

I pulled it out and started flicking it on and off.

Did she get off? Hmm, guess not .

“Are you listening to me, Nixon?” Isabella’s voice had reached an unnaturally high pitch.

She had gotten her tits back inside her dress and was trying and failing to smooth out her hair. There was a bright red ring around her throat where my hands had left their mark, and it did nothing for me.

“Nixon!” she yelled, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

Suddenly, she very much had my attention, and I turned to give her the full weight of it.

It was a mistake to think I was the nice one.

None of us were. We were all Blackwells at the end of the day.

Her confidence flickered, and her shoulders caved in under the force of my glare, but I knew someone like Isabella Cantwell wasn’t used to being told to fuck off.

“You can go now,” I said with affection .

“Are you f—?”

I didn’t let her finish.

My lighter was in my hand, and then my hand was by those 100 percent human hair extensions. Then there were flames crawling up the extensions, and the pungent scent of burning hair filled my lungs.

That was when she started screaming and shoved me away.

I fell back onto the couch, arms sprawled behind my head as Isabella Cantwell jumped up, batting at her head, but I no longer cared.

What was it Bradbury said?

Burn all, burn everything. Fire is bright and fire is clean.