Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 3

THREE

T he moment my apartment door closes behind me, I sink back against it and kick my heels off, brushing off the sound of them clattering against the floor. My exhale invades the silence and I smile to myself as I relax in my own space. Well, technically it’s mine now. I inherited it from my Aunt Lexie when I told her I wanted to move out. I don’t know why she held onto this apartment for so long, but I’m glad she did.

The place needs a bit of updating since it’s over twenty years old, but it’s home for me. I’ve made it my own and decorated it how I like, but my favorite part about this apartment is the peace and quiet. I don’t have anyone breathing down my neck or invading my privacy. I can come and go as I please without having to explain myself. It’s the freedom I’ve craved for so long. It was also the leap of independence I needed to get over what happened five years ago. I needed to find myself again, because the girl I was at eighteen was lost.

My mother understands why I’d want my own space, but my father, not so much. He still thinks my moving out was an act of rebellion, and while he’s partially right, it’s so much more than that. Dad insisted I live with my brother, saying I needed the protection. Little does he know that evil doesn’t always approach from unfamiliarity. Sometimes evil just is.

I shudder at the past memories, trying to evoke happier ones. Times when I wasn’t such a na?ve girl, desperate for someone who didn’t really care for me at all.

Just being around Roman tonight was exhausting. I don’t even want to think about what it would be like living with my twin brother and having to deal with his best friend on a regular basis. I’m hardly able to avoid Roman in public settings, let alone in the confines of my brother’s apartment. I can barely stand looking at the man. All I can think about when my eyes land on him is what he did—what happened after he left and everything in between. It’s not just the bitter taste the memories leave on my tongue, but the scars he left on my young heart. When he promised he’d never leave me, then did exactly that the very next morning. When he told me we were forever, but he walked away nonetheless. Those are the memories that motivate my distaste for him and this life, forging impenetrable walls to prevent myself getting hurt all over again.

I should have known that Roman would see through the armor I wore, the walls I built to protect myself. But he should have known better than to think I’d spill all my reasons for hating him; for what happened the night he left. I could’ve forgiven him for leaving, eventually. But the night Roman left was one of the darkest moments in my life. I’ve worked hard to bury the past, locking away the memories so deep in my mind that they remain untouched. Roman brings out the worst in me because he’s a constant reminder of them. He makes me mad, manic, a complete idiot brimming with venom and spit. Yet I’m so utterly tethered to him that I hate not only him, but myself, too.

It’s like whenever we’re in the same vicinity, all the air and my sense of rationality is sucked out of the room. I try to avoid him as much as possible, though he always seems intent on finding me. There’s just something about him I’m always drawn to. Even tonight, I couldn’t take my eyes off him, as much as I wanted to. But then I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me. I wanted him to feel every facet of my anger.

I might hate the asshole, but there are moments when he’s not around that I find myself remembering what it was like when we were kids; the good times before everything fell apart. Before I fell apart . And then he reminds me why I hate him.

Making my way to the bedroom, I push the image of those crystal blue eyes out of my mind and shrug out of my dress. I let the satin material slip down my body, pooling at my feet in a puddle of red fabric. I step out of it and run through the motions of getting ready for bed, throwing on an old t-shirt and unclipping my gun from its holster on my thigh before sliding it under my pillow.

It’s the only protection I need.

As I slide into bed, my mind reels over tonight’s events.

The way Roman’s eyes never left me all night. The way his hands roamed my body as we danced to our song. The way my body betrayed me when he ran his hands over my skin.

I hate that I can’t control myself around him, no matter how hard I try. It doesn’t matter that our past is fractured, barely glued back together by my own attempt to heal. Somehow, Roman has stolen a fragment of my shattered heart, and no matter what I do, I can’t find a way to reclaim it.

I shake my head, grumbling to myself as I cocoon beneath the covers and pull them up to my chin. It’s only two in the morning. I could have stayed out a lot later, but with all the dancing Haven and I were doing, my body is aching for sleep. Though with the way my mind won’t quiet, I doubt I’ll be getting much. Still, I close my eyes and try to lose myself to the blanket of darkness.

I inhale deeply, letting my body sink into the mattress. Exhaling loudly, I finally let my exhaustion wrap around me. And just when I feel like the world is falling away, I hear it.

It’s just a creak of the floorboards, a potentially innocent sound in the dead of night. But as soon as I hear the telltale sound of my bedroom door opening, I slide my hand under my pillow until I feel the brush of cold metal against my fingertips.

The bed dips and a familiar scent reaches me, hitting me like a freight train. I roll over swiftly, swinging my leg for momentum and pinning my assailant beneath me. My thighs straddle his waist as I thrust the barrel of my gun under his chin, but there’s no fear in his eyes, just smug satisfaction.

“Presh,” Roman tuts, hands immediately cupping my bare ass and giving it a squeeze. It’s a test, an inquisitive touch. When he realizes I’m not wearing panties, his grin stretches further. “You’re lethal enough without the gun.”

I wish I could say he’s right, but that would be successfully eradicating the past. And that’s just not possible.

A gun would’ve saved me that night, and now I’ll never go without one again.

I dig the barrel deeper into his flesh. Even in the dead of night, I can see Roman’s piercing blue eyes, the menacing way his lips curl up to expose his straight white teeth. I’d love to knock a few loose right now, but I refrain, purely because he looks so infuriatingly beautiful peering up at me through the darkness that I lose focus for a second.

In one fluid movement, he seizes control back and rolls me over, leaning his weight into the weapon. I should have known that any threat like this would be met with his obnoxious brand of unwavering confidence. He hovers over me, blanketing me in an intoxicating blend of his aftershave and tequila. He obviously didn’t stay out long after I left his ass back in that corridor.

His warm breath skates over my lips, an embarrassing moan escaping my own as my grip slips and the gun presses against his temple.

“ Do it ,” he whispers, forcing my stubbornness to the recesses of my mind.

My eyes blow wide. Heat crawls up my spine, expanding in my chest until I’m suddenly breaking out in a sweat. Yet again, my body is defying my brain, my inner strength giving way. Shit . He knows that I’d never do it. I’ve never pulled my gun on someone I didn’t intend to harm, and that thought causes my mask to crack.

This is what Roman does to me. He makes me do crazy shit, my anger driving my actions instead of thinking clearly.

With my legs wrapped around his waist, Roman circles his hips, his excitement at the turn of events evident in the way his hard length presses into me. My traitorous pussy is so damn eager that I can’t ignore the needy pulse throbbing between my legs.

He hitches forward, the heat of his body covering mine as he runs his nose along my own. “Pull-” his tongue traces a wet path along my neck, making me shudder. “The-” he nips my jawline, “Trigger.”

Our lips brush, the magnetizing tension between us ramping up. Either I’ve had too much to drink or I’ve lost my fight to ignore the attraction between us. Once again, the need to hate him is overshadowed by the need to have him.

When I don’t respond, his lips curl into a smug grin like he knows he’s won. Roman yanks the gun from my hand, sitting back on his haunches to slide the barrel over my chest, tracing the cold metal over my hardened nipples. The thin cotton barely conceals how reactive I am to him, and Roman laps it up. He rolls my nipple under the metal, his rushed breaths mingling with mine. He widens my thighs with his own, dragging the weapon over my stomach until he reaches my bare pussy.

“This better have been for me,” he smirks. I’d be a liar if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind, but I squashed any residual hope by remembering how he destroyed me. There’s nothing like the harsh sting of the past to bring you back to your senses. Unfortunately, it’s a little more difficult now that Roman towers over me.

Rubbing the cold metal against the sensitive pulse of my clit, Roman then guides the weapon between my pussy lips, coating it in my juices.

I won’t lie, the danger lacing this moment has me on edge, but it’s also heightening my senses. My nerves are frayed and my brain is misfiring, unable to decipher what should be perceived as pain versus pleasure.

“I hate you,” I grit out, though my words a direct contradiction to how my body is responding to his ministrations.

“Keep telling yourself that, Presh.” He works the weapon faster over my clit, my toes curling as I throw my head back. “But we both know how much you miss me owning this pussy.”

My back arches off the mattress as I’m lost in the dangerous sensations he’s evoking from me. I bite down on my lip, desperate to suppress the sounds he’s coaxing out, but his assault is so intense that I’m unable to hold it in. My thighs shake as his movements quicken, the weight of the gun putting more pressure on my pussy until I’m throbbing with need.

“And if you’re going to threaten me, at least be sure that you’re going to pull the trigger.”

Roman drops his head to my chest and latches his teeth around my nipple through my shirt, tugging until I’m whining and writhing. As usual, he doesn’t soothe the pain coursing through me—he just moves to my other nipple, offering it the same assault, like I should be grateful for the attention.

I roll my eyes, but that only goads him further. He wraps his hand around my throat, essentially pinning me to my mattress. It’s not hard enough to cut off circulation, but it restricts my air enough to cause spots to dance in front of my eyes. And the most sickening part is that even after everything, I still trust him. I still love what he does to me. There’s a look of dangerous intent in his eyes, blended with the familiar desire that he reserves only for me, and I know he’d never offer me the pleasure of dying under his hand.

As he rubs the gun harder against my clit, a needy whimper escapes me. It’s like that sound is his undoing, because Roman dives in to swallow it, his lips sliding against mine, hungry and harsh. His tongue tastes mine, the familiar pull that I’ve tried so hard to ignore threatening to drag me into its void. But it’s too late. It’s too late to fight it. The only thing I can do is give in, allow myself to ride the wave.

And I do.

I pull Roman closer with my legs wrapped around his waist, the kiss deepening until all the breath is knocked out of me and all I feel is dirty and lost. Lost in Roman. Lost in the enemy that has warped my sensibility once again.

It’s like my heart forgets and my body remembers, everything . Roman’s touch, Roman’s kiss, Roman’s ability to make me come so violently that it almost becomes an out-of-body experience.

I shudder beneath him, unable to fight the warmth coursing through my veins or the ball of pleasure unraveling like yarn deep in my belly. And then it hits me, like a wave crashing into cliffs. I fall over the blissful peak of an orgasm, shattering under the assault of my own gun, screaming out in ecstasy. My harsh, panted breaths rattle in my chest as my heart pounds against my ribcage. The dizzying sparks exploding through my extremities momentarily obliterate my anger for the devil hovering above me, leave me boneless.

Roman pulls away to run his tongue along the barrel of the gun, groaning with his eyes closed as he laps up my release. “You taste better than I remember.”

Shame pours over me like water to a flame, and all I can think about is how I let my guard down once again. I let Roman in when I swore I wouldn’t. But yet again, I’ve found myself caught up in our chaotic attraction.

Roman leans down to capture my lips once more. I can taste myself; my arousal tainted with the bitter blend of betrayal. “Happy birthday, Presh.”

Regret coats my skin in a thin sheen of sweat, my breath slowly steadying. His chest presses against mine, but he makes no attempt to push the moment further. That’s the thing about Roman; he can read me like a book. And right now I feel like a children’s book with pretty pictures and simple words, but there’s so much more beneath the surface that I’m battling. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he runs his nose along mine before pulling away and rolling to the edge of the bed.

“Don’t feel so guilty, Presh.” He rests my gun on the bedside table, looking over his shoulder at me and pinning me with his soul-shattering blue eyes. The gentle glow of the moon through the window behind me cascades over him, bathing him in ethereal light. It juxtaposes everything about the man standing before me because the guy is a prick, not one bone in the asshole’s body is good, and the sooner my own body gets the message, the better off I’ll be. But I don’t know how long that will take—five years doesn’t seem like enough— and with Roman’s constant intrusion in my life, he’s not making it easy. He never does. He always finds a way to reassert his ownership over my body. It’s not like I need the reminder, but every moment spent beneath his touch sends me spiraling into darker madness. Just when I think I’m finally over him, he reappears, locking his deviant blue eyes with mine and reminding me of everything .

“Why did you come here?” My voice falls as a whisper. I push up onto my hands, clutching the covers against my chest like that will somehow protect me. It’s a little too late for that, Alanis.

“Call it unfinished business,” he mumbles, standing up from the bed.

“When are you leaving?” I find myself asking, even though I can already tell I won’t like the answer.

Silence follows him as he heads towards the bedroom door. His retreating footsteps only make the weight of my own guilt sit heavier on my chest. Just when I don’t think I’m going to get another word out of him, he freezes in the doorway, resting his hand on the frame as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Never.”

The smugness is back, coaxing out my temporarily retreating hatred.

“I don’t want you here.”

Shaking his head, he locks eyes with me. “When are you going to stop lying to yourself?”

“The day you leave this earth,” I retort. “This can’t happen again.”

He spins around, chuckling to himself. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking at the ridiculousness of my words. Even I hear the way the repetitive lies sound. “Now where have I heard that before?”

Before I can even answer, he’s walking away from me, taking my breath with him.

Asshole.