#11 IN ACTION
(PARIS)
Buried deep below the everyday life of our society lives a world of nightmares-of violence and murder no one dares speak about. It is called the Sinner's Society.
In the murky waters of Chicago's underworld I'm arranged to marr...
He reminds me of an angel that's been stripped of its wings. It's a fitting description when I think about the circumstances surrounding him, and I've been doing that a fuck of a lot.
--------Alex
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He slides down the wall and sits heavily, his muscle body sending a shockwave through the floor. I don't dare to move.
Should I look at him? Not look at him? Which would be more likely to spur him to action?
He remains seated, with his knees up and the gun dangling between them, staring at the floor. His presence only is enough intimidating even without the gun. He is dressed in black. Like the Angel of Death.
I have one leg bent under me and it is starting to cramp really badly with my big, bloated tummy. I have to move it. I do it as slowly as I can—
He doesn't lift his head, but raises his eyes to look at me. God, he is gorgeous. Those pale blue eyes with dark think lashes are beautiful but, when they are filled with doubt and conflict as they are now, they are achingly. . . sad.
My breath hitches and my lips part to snag a dose of shaky breath. How he feels sadness? How an unfeeling man feels sadness?
I slowly finish moving my leg. That leaves me sitting in the same position he is—on my ass on the floor, knees up, facing him. For a long moment we just sit, barely breathing.
What the fuck am I going to do?
"Alex" I ask tentatively.
He lifts the gun. "No more running." He rasps.
I stare down the barrel for a bit and raise cool eyebrows at him.
His jaw muscle jumps. "Just say it damnit." He spits the words with such vehemence that the gun jerks.
Now I flinch. My mouth opens and closes. I feel my brows knit together. Words evading me. So I nod slowly.
His eyes narrow a fraction. "Say the words Princess."
