Chad's Chase (Loving All Wrong Book 2) (21 page)

Shaking my head, I laughed to myself. If Chad thought he could dangle a fucking carrot in front of me and I wouldn’t hop up like a bunny and bite it, he was sadly mistaken. When I was imprisoned, whatever was brought to my room was mine for the taking.

Nadia was delivered to my room, so I was taking.

I leaned down and fired up a kiss with Nadia as an apology for choking her…and to get her aroused. In no time she was bothered.

Shifting down her body, I sat between her legs and she easily drew them up for me, showing me she was underwear-free.

Smoothing my palms up her inner thighs, I teased a thumb around her lips before finding her glistening tiny clit hidden between her flat lips. The woman was more than ready, as if she’d had this on her mind all night.

After teasing her, I gently eased two fingers inside her, and her legs went even wider as her hips rocked upward, encouraging my fingers deeper.

“Ohmygod, Blood, what have you done to me?” she moaned.

I’m barely doing a damn thing here, over-horny Indian.

“At work last night”—she bit her lip and whimpered when I began working my fingers deeper—”all I could think about was you”—she squeezed her own breasts now— “the way you make me feel…”

Already annoyed, I withdrew my fingers from her and stood up from the bed. Then stripped. “Come on. Shower with me.”

Nadia didn’t give the idea a second thought. She was off the bed and out of her dress before I could offer a hand.

We soaked in a warm bath together. And we fucked. We showered again. And we fucked. We dried off. And we fucked. I blow-dried and twisted her hair. And we fucked. We went back into the bedroom. And we fucked.

When I was done using her out of my own righteous anger, I left her dozing off under the royal purple covers and padded back to the bathroom to blow-dry my hair this time.

Screw Chad and his twisted issues, playing me all the time like I was a piece on his fucking chessboard. If he wasn’t going to be with me, then what was his motive for bringing me here, in his house? Why was he keeping me alive? Why did I have a room redone for me and a closet full of brand new clothes? Why wasn’t he talking to me about the serious shit that’s to follow?

What was he doing to me?

Powering off the blow-dryer, I swept my hair to the side and braided it in a tight fish plait. The thing, thick as a rope, snaked down over my shoulder and ended just below my breast.

Yawning, I ambled back out into the bedroom, thinking to wear Nadia out some more. But Nadia wasn’t there.

Chad was.

Sitting at the end of my bed, just staring at the floor.

He’d gotten rid of Nadia. Sex noises must have been too loud for him to get that rest he’d so badly needed.

Bastard.

“Every single test I give you,” he said without looking up at me, “you fail.”

“Then
quit it
with the goddamn tests,” I hissed at him. “I’m not a fucking lab rat.”

Eyes dark and blistering, he looked up at me. “I should just—” he stopped and stood up, growling deep in his throat as he began pacing the length of the room. Once, twice, three times, before he pivoted, grabbed the fancy lamp from the nightstand and pelted it in my direction across the room.

The lamp came nowhere near me. It busted into pieces when it landed on the coffee table at the little sitting area. “You fucking infuriate me, Blood! That’s what you do. Every. Fucking. Time!”

Too bad I didn’t give a shit about his anger right now. I was angry, too.

“I deliberately failed your test to prove something both to you, and myself. That I want you. Nadia and I just fucked over and over, and I came over and over, and at the end of each orgasm,
I wanted you
. I was empty. Something was missing. I wanted you
inside
me. To make me feel things only
you
make me feel. So yeah, congratulations, you’ve ruined me for women. You’ve turned me straight. Does it make you feel better that I both failed
and
passed your test?”

For a moment, he just glared at me like he wanted to mow me down, fury luminous in his eyes.

He stalked up to me and I remained planted, hoping this would be an “I’m sorry” followed up with a kiss and a really good fuck.

Leaning down to level our eyes, and keeping his hands to himself, he whispered, low and menacing, “Fuck you, Blood. Just…
fuck you
.”

“Fuck me?” I bit back a laugh. “What are you? Twelve?”

His mighty fists clenched open and close, open and close, open and close. Then, wagging his head as if to clear it, he turned from me and marched out of the room.

Only when he was out the door and out of view, did I yell back, “Well, fuck you, too, asshole!”

And then I put my hand over my mouth and laughed.

Apparently, I was twelve, too.

The next morning I found Chad in the same spot at the breakfast bar. Except this time he wasn’t dressed to go out.

The dragon tattoo a masterpiece on his back; he was in old, faded jeans that rode low on his hips, and nothing else. Nibbling down strawberries and reading the morning paper. Same scene as yesterday morning, but with less clothes and a new haircut.

Vivian was puttering around in the kitchen, but her cheeks were curiously flushed red, as it seemed more like she was surreptitiously eyeballing Chad’s chest than paying attention to her task at hand. Well, she was a woman, after all. No matter the age or occupation, one could not deny Chad’s wickedly powerful magnetism. If he could make me, a straight-up dike, crave him, I could only imagine what he did to the straight women.

Just like yesterday morning, I went to the breakfast bar and sat next to him.

No acknowledgment. Teeth sinking into strawberries, eyes remaining on the paper.

“So…” I dragged, fishing for conversation. “I see you took my advice and got a haircut.”

Nothing.

Vivian poured me coffee and portioned out my breakfast, still sporting a blush as she passed me the tray.

To keep from making further embarrassment of myself, I stuffed my mouth full with eggs and pancakes. But his cold shoulder was starting to bother me big time.

I just couldn’t stand not having his attention. I swallowed my mouthful of food and asked, “You don’t ‘work’ on Thursdays?”

Chad picked up his steaming cup of coffee and the morning paper, then stood and directed at Vivian in Spanish, “When she’s done eating, bring her to the movie room. We have important matters to discuss.”

To Vivian. As if I wasn’t sitting there right next to him. Could this widely feared, eminent, egregious criminal be any more
childish
?

As he stalked off, I said to his dragon, “Now you’ve gone from being a twelve-year-old to a six-year-old.”

Of course, he said nothing, just strolled right out of the room.

Jabbing at a piece of pancake with my fork, I asked Vivian, “Is he always such an immature jerk?”

Pursing her lips, Vivian gave me the stink-eye. “Mr. Niiveux nice to everybody. Mr. Niiveux take care everybody. But you,”—she wagged a finger at me, like I was an errant student giving trouble at the back of the classroom—”you do something to him. You make him smile down with frown and bad mood.”

She seriously needed to brush up on her English.

“Me?” I said, indignant. “I don’t do anything to him. He’s just an arrogant dickhead.”

“Sí. Sí. You do something.
You
,” the woman accused me, pointing at me with her index finger like a M16 or something. Muttering a whole jumble of words in Spanish—which were all curses against me, as she clearly didn’t know I understood Spanish.

Picking up a dishrag, she began wiping down the already clean countertop. “And I no like that you do something to Mr. Niiveux. You trouble. I know from start you trouble. I no like that you upset Mr. Niiveux.”

Okayyyyy. So there’s a loyal
housemaid
. Very passionate and concerned about her boss’s disposition. However, she shouldn’t be talking down to me like this. I was pretty sure if I told Chad, she’d lose her job. But I was no tattletale. If she wanted to hate me because I “
did something to her boss
” that was her problem.

I let her carry on with her curses in Spanish, pretending I didn’t understand.

When I was finished with breakfast, I shoved the dish across the counter, and said to her in Spanish, “Now, where’s the movie room?”

Vivian’s head shot up, eyes widening, her mouth snapping shut. Tossing down the dishrag on the counter, she meekly walked out of the kitchen and I followed.

The movie room had to be accessed through the library. A door I hadn’t noticed at all yesterday was tucked away at the end of the non-fiction shelf. Only noticeable now because the door was left ajar.

Vivian motioned to the door, but then touched my shoulder, and in ten shades of humility, whispered, “Lo siento”.

She wasn’t genuinely sorry. Just worried I would complain to Chad then her ass would be grass. I patted her hand nonetheless and gave her a smile. A genuine one. Then went through the door.

The movie room was dark and cozy, with six warm-brown recliner chairs facing the big screen.

Chad was in one of them, his feet stretched out before him, his head dipped low as he messed with his iPad, the screen light glowing on his face.

“Close the door,” he said without looking up.

I did as he asked and navigated to where he was. “You’re staying home with me today to watch movies? I choose porn.”

“Sit,” he ordered.

I’d been about to sit, but his command stopped me. “Or what?”

Irritated eyes raised from the tablet screen and up to me. “Today is not the day to mouth off with me, Blood.”

“Or. What?”

Quicker than I could register, he shot up and tackled me into the chair, his forearm above my breasts on my chest, keeping me down, his bent knee between my thighs.

Even in that deadly hold, all I could think about was his knee between my thighs, grazing against my core that was so hungry for him.

“Mouth off with me today and I’ll be forced to shove my cock in your mouth and fuck it until you choke on my fucking cum.”

Daringly, I grinned. “Sounds like a really hot way to die. Better than a bullet.”

Emitting a frustrated groan, he pressed his forearm harder against my chest. “Why are you so infuriatingly defiant?”

“Because…rules are not for us.”

Almost imperceptibly, his head jerked back.

Rules are not for us
. It’s what he used to say to me when we were younger. I held my breath and waited, waited for him to see that it was me. Jhay.

His Tweety Byrd.

Disappointingly, he didn’t.

He backed off, picked up his tablet from where it had fallen on the thick carpeted floor and sat back down.

“Seeing that the threat of death turns you on instead of scares you, I’m gonna have to ask you
kindly
to chill the fuck out. You’re giving me a goddamn headache,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Someone’s after you, and I need to find out who it is so I can stop them before it’s too late.”

Oh God. My time has run out.
“What do you mean someone’s after me?”

“Well, two different sets of people,” he spared. “But before we get into that, I need you to tell me something first.” He set his iPad face-down on his lap, then interlaced his fingers on top of it. “Who sent you to kill me?”

An answer I wish I knew. “I don’t know.”

Chad frowned at me. “This room is soundproofed, Blood. It’s why I called you in here. So if you’re worried about being heard, don’t be.”

In the assassin world, assignments were never discussed with anyone but the one who gave it. It was a rule: if broken, one would suffer painfully, most of the time in death. So naturally, Chad thought I was being spurious to protect myself. But really, I would tell him anything he wanted to know at this point. This one thing, however, I
didn’t
know.

“I don’t know who sent me, Chad.”

Losing his patience, Chad rubbed his hands down his face, asking, “Wha-What do you mean you don’t know? You do realize I’m trying to protect you here, right?”

Leaning over my chair handle to his, I took one of his hands in mine so he could look at me and mark the veracity of my words, spoken in our second tongue, Russian. “Chadrick Ivanovich Niiveux, I do not know who sent me to kill you. I am a prisoner. I do as I am told because it is either that or death. For twelve years I have been imprisoned. I have been beaten, raped, and forced to kill. You did this. You let me live. Why didn’t you kill me? Why did you leave me to suffer?”

Face white as a ghost’s, lips parting in absolute horror, Chad froze up, still as a statue.

“I do not know who is behind all this,” I went on. “But I think the real answer to your question is…you. You sent me to kill you, Blood.
You
.”