Lady Killer (Dead Girls Club #2)

39. Luz

Chapter thirty-nine

Luz

T he key reader beeped loudly.

I tossed my phone on my bed.

The lock on the door tumbled.

I flicked open the needle cap and tightened my grip on the taser.

The door pushed open, the bright light of the hallway harsh, but I was already out of the way and into the shadows.

The person who stepped into the room was tall and masculine, and there was a familiarity to their build. But I had no time to ponder that as I leaped toward them, taser at the ready.

I connected with the patch of exposed skin between their hoodie and jeans. My would-be attacker stiffened and stumbled to their knees.

Running forward, I threw myself at them from behind, needle arching through the air. As I collided with them, I yanked back the hoodie with one hand and thrust the syringe into the meat of their neck as they thrashed against me.

I smashed the plunger down, emptying the drug into their body, just before they managed to buck me off and throw me into the closet doors.

Luckily, the cheap plastic mirror buckled under me rather than shattered, and I bounced hard onto the floor, landing on my hands and knees.

Pushing off, I reached into my pocket for a second syringe while twisting to look from the sheep to the door. It wouldn’t be the first time they worked in pairs.

“What the fuck?”

I knew that voice.

The sheep turned around to face me, one hand pressed on their back where I had tased them, the other reaching for me. “You fucking tased me and stabbed me in the neck. ”

He lunged forward. I dove to the right.

It would take anywhere from one to five minutes for the effects of the drug to really kick in.

Alister and Nixon would be here in less than that.

I just had to stay alive.

The sheep went for me again, slower this time as the antipsychotic started working its way through his system.

“You bitch, you drugged me!!”

Ding, ding, ding!

He dove for me with both hands, and as I slipped to the side to avoid him, I miscalculated and my hip got caught hard on my desk, nearly sending me down.

His hand wrapped around my arm, and he whipped my body to the ground. My knees collided with the carpet, sending a shock of pain up my legs. I managed to roll over on my side, just missing the booted foot aiming for my ribs. Rolling again, I started to scramble away while trying to get on my feet.

Stay alive just a bit longer . . .

My hip and knee throbbed, and the carpet burned the skin of my palms as I watched the sheep stumble after me.

He swayed, falling first onto one knee and then onto the next.

Still, he came after me .

My back hit the wall as he descended on me, grabbing first my ankle, then my aching knee as he pulled me toward him. I kicked out violently but it was no use.

“Youu . . .” His words were slurred as he crawled on top of me.

Even though his movements were sluggish, he was able to use his size to dominate me.

“fuuckkkking . . .”

The sheep straddled me and wrapped two hands around my throat, a terrifying amount of strength left in them. Squeezing, he choked the air from my lungs as I clawed him.

Despite being drugged and tased, he was still lucid enough to continue to strangle me, his much larger frame pinning me in place. There was nothing I could do to dislodge him.

He squeezed even tighter and my vision began to flicker. Time seemed to slow down.

I swiped clumsily at the cheap plastic mask, needing to see my killer’s face if this was to be my last moment on earth. The sheep tried to pull away, but with his hands around my neck, there was little he could do to stop me.

Recognition shocked my system .

“biiiiii—?”

Michael slumped over me, his fingers still clutching my throat, neither loosening nor tightening.

Light suddenly flooded my senses.

“Luz!”

The weight pinning me down was suddenly flung off, and the hands around my throat sent me wrenching forward. My battered palms collided with the floor, barely catching me before I face-planted.

“Careful!”

Another voice filled the room.

Strong arms swept me up, gently placing me on the bed.

I whimpered.

“I need to check you over, petite diablesse.” Soft lips feathered my forehead as fingers stroked my neck.

“Is he . . . ?” My voice was unrecognizable to me as a deep fatigue started to pull me under.

“Yes, my love. You did it.”

The world went black.

The scents of cinnamon and smoke wrapped around me like a cocoon.

My eyes were too heavy to open yet, but all around me the world was warm and soft .

“You cut it too close.” A voice rasped above me.

I wanted to stay in the safety of the darkness longer, but the heat of their body acted like a beacon guiding me back to the land of the living.

Blue eyes, dark like the ocean crashing during a storm, stared down at me. Only now they looked . . . haunted.

A fine white scar visible only to those who knew to look for it confirmed my suspicions.

“Nixon?” I croaked.

My throat hurt, still tender from . . .

“Michael!” I cried. Knives stabbed my throat, causing me to curl in on myself.

“Easy.” Nixon’s arm wrapped around me, rubbing my back. “Here.”

A glass of water appeared in front of me.

“Drink this.”

The ice-cold water burned as it trickled down my bruised throat, but just as quickly, it started to numb the pain, and I gingerly swallowed down a couple more sips.

“Where?” I rasped.

“Jesus, pet, you don’t stop, do you?” Nixon growled.

Turning slowly to shoot him a dirty look, I took him in more closely .

He was paler than usual, and I could see a faint web of purple growing underneath his eyes. The accusation in them wasn’t surprising.

The concern was.

“You nearly fucking died again tonight,” he said, a little too loudly.

“That? That . . . was . . . nothing,” I said, speaking carefully around my throat.

My attempt at humor failed as Nixon’s familiar scowl returned. “Do you even fucking care?”

As if he wasn’t rooting for my death only a couple months ago.

“Do you?” I bit out.

He stood up, aggressively running his hands through his hair. “Do you know what your death would do to Alister? Hell, to fucking Everest?”

If he could change the subject, so could I. “Michael?”

Every word hurt, but I needed to know.

Nixon looked at me incredulously. “You don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“You don’t know anything,” I said, tears brimming in my eyes from the pain.

“I know that you almost fucking died tonight, and you’re acting like you don’t give a shit! ”

“BECAUSE I CAN’T!” Tears broke free, running down my face.

Every word was agony.

Before I could fully process the pain, Nixon was on me, gripping my head gently in his hands.

“I ha—?”

His lips were on mine before I could finish, and suddenly the roar of blood rushing between my ears was all I could hear as Nixon Blackwell became all I could taste.

And see.

And smell.

Closing my eyes, I lay back on the pillows, taking him with me.

His kiss was surprisingly soft and teasing.

He started gently.

Nixon’s lips pressed to mine lightly before he began peppering me with teasing, playful kisses that had me chasing him for more. Between the mountain of pillows and sheets beneath me and the man above, I was nearly surrounded by the scent of cinnamon and cloves, and I realized that this must be his bed.

His leg swung over me, bringing him to straddle me, just like Michael had.

It should have triggered me, frightened me .

But all I could think about was Nixon’s increasingly urgent kisses, begging me to open to him.

So, I did.

His tongue pressed into my mouth, and his hands slid up my jaw and into my hair, gently massaging my scalp. I melted beneath him as he kept his weight on his elbows, surrounding me without overwhelming me.

He never stopped kissing me.

Over and over again. As if his lips might never tire of seeking mine. It was both delicious and cloying.

Shifting farther up the bed, I brought my legs out from under him, hooking them around his waist.

My leggings were missing, and my underwear was already soaked as I rubbed up against him. A deep, rumbling moan came from Nixon.

His kisses grew wilder as he began to alternate between diving his tongue into my mouth and nipping at my lips.

My shirt rode up, and I was frustrated to realize that my bra was still on. Nixon’s hands were threaded through my hair, so I reached to take it off myself. The freedom brought me some relief, but I needed to feel more of him. I needed to feel every inch of his skin on mine.

My hands wove under Nixon’s shirt, connecting with the ridges of his abs. I traced a finger down the center of him, rewarded by his cock jumping at my touch. I began to tug on his shirt until he got the message, disentangling one hand to work with me to pull it up and over his head, his mouth barely leaving mine.

And then his skin was on mine, sending ripples of warm pleasure through me. My nipples rubbed on him as I ground up and down against him from below.

Still, I needed more.

Releasing my hold on him with my legs, I dragged my nails slowly down the muscled panes of his back until I found the waist of his jeans. Following it to the front, I began to fumble them open.

As soon as I had the zipper undone, my hand slipped into his silky briefs to grip his cock. He was hard, hot, and velvety, and I squeezed him hard in my hand, finding a familiar piercing at the base of his shaft.

I groaned.

Using one hand to push his pants down, poorly, I worked his cock in my other. Rubbing my thumb across the head that I had learned was so sensitive, I smeared the bead of precum that had gathered there.

Nixon worked to help me pull his pants down, moaning into my mouth as he rolled from side to side, shucking them off, his briefs following next.

Still, he kissed me fervently .

With every taste, every bite, he seemed to only want more of me, and I ached inside to oblige him.

Wrapping my legs back around him, I was only separated from him by the thin, soaking-wet sliver of my underwear. I could feel the ridge of his head through the flimsy layer as I worked myself up and down him, riding him from beneath, from my clit to my entrance, where I would hold him in place, torturing both of us.

All it would take would be to push my underwear to the side, and he would be there. Perfectly positioned to thrust inside me.

I hurt. Inside and out.

The void inside me ached, and I needed Nixon to fill it.

Rough finger pads ran under the elastic of my underwear, asking a silent question. I whimpered and rocked harder into him.

Nixon slowly peeled the fabric off me. I kissed him deeper, and his hands slid under me, tugging my underwear free to slide them down my legs.

Nothing separated us now.

Somewhere in the background, a phone started ringing.

Nixon tightened his hold on my hair as I thrust my hips up to meet him.

He lowered himself onto me, coating his already wet cock in my juices .

His hand went to my hip and . . .

“Ah!” A pained cry escaped me as his knee collided with mine.

Nixon pulled back from me, his eyes suddenly round with worry.

The phone kept ringing.

“Fuck, Luz . . .”