Did I mind being a fly on the wall, even in my own life? Not really, but I didn’t have the energy or the know-how to stand on my own. Living with Callie, being a journalist and a blogger—it was different than actually living.
What I was doing, it wasn’t living. It was barely scraping by—but it’s okay, because I never thought I’d be one of those people who lived until they were eighty or ninety.
Not saying I wanted to die young, but…
“Stella,” Sandy called out to me, raising her glass after drinking a huge gulp of beer from it. Or was it considered a mug? I didn’t know the semantics, because I wasn’t a drinker, not like these people. Why the hell was I here again? “You’re awfully quiet over there.”
God, when people addressed my different-ness, I really felt my skin prickle in annoyance.
I leaned against the wall behind the pool table, forcing myself to smile at her words. It didn’t matter whether or not she meant them how I took them; I was annoyed, and I didn’t get annoyed easily. “I’m just watching the show,” I said.
Sandy stunned more than one person as she slapped Killian on the ass and said, “Me too.”
Killian, who was before then bending over to line up a shot, instantly straightened. “Sandy, that’s inappropriate.” His words slurred a bit, and I could tell he didn’t really mean it.
“Is it my turn to slap the boss’s ass?” Clive, the formatter of both the paper’s printed form and the website, spoke up, raising his hand questioningly. His sarcastic quip caused the group to erupt in a fit of giggles, and I had to step away.
My drink was nearly gone anyway. Time for a refill. Or maybe I should just go.
After getting the bartender’s attention and sliding him my glass, as I waited for my refilled cup, I was no longer alone at the bar. Killian had followed me after handing the pool cue to Clive. He set his glass on the counter, staring heavily at me.
A beat of silence before I said under my breath, “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Don’t say that,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here, really. Ignore everything Sandy says—she’s just going through a rough patch in her home life right now. Whether you’re quiet or not, I want you here.” As he spoke, he tentatively reached out to me, brushing my arm with his fingertips. Despite the alcohol, he sounded genuine. “You look good,” Killian whispered, his eyes moving up and down. “With your hair not in a bun, I hardly recognize you.” His fingers still touched me, and the longer I stood motionless, the more his palm brushed up against me.
I wasn’t sure what he thought, but this wasn’t an invitation to come onto me. This wasn’t his second chance. I was not interested in Killian like that, even if he was cute. Looks were not everything.
“Killian,” I spoke his name delicately, but I lost all sense of coolness when I quickly added, “please don’t touch me.” It came out in a rush, the words all mashed together like I couldn’t wait to get them out. I winced at how much of a bitch I sounded like. It wasn’t how I wanted to come off.
He was slow to pull his hand off my arm. His mouth thinned into a frown. “Right. I forgot you only like murderers.”
“That’s not—” At all what I meant, but I didn’t get a chance to say it before he walked away, back to the group.
Well, that was a rude thing to do, drunk or not.
The bartender returned with my pop, and I thanked him without looking at him, still staring at Killian’s back. I was measured in moving my stare to my carbonated beverage, getting lost in its warm brown color. It was a dark brown pop, the same color as my hair. I took a slow sip, wondering if I should just leave. I already paid for the drink—it came with unlimited refills, unlike all the alcohol the others were drowning themselves in—so what was the harm?
I mean, I came, I saw, I talked a little. What more was there? If I left now, I wouldn’t be a liar to Callie.
Just as I was about to push myself off the stool and away from the counter, a smooth voice beside me said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your boyfriend seems like a dick.”
I hadn’t expected anyone to talk to me, let alone call Killian my boyfriend, so it took me far too long to turn my head and meet the questioning blue eyes of the stranger who’d spoken. Older than me by a few years, maybe in his thirties. A square jaw with dimples that deepened when he smiled at me—and his smile, it was…a devastating kind of handsome. The kind of handsome I never knew was possible. Effortless. Short blonde hair, clean cut; there was nothing off-putting about him.
He was perhaps the most handsome man I’d ever seen, and I was not being dramatic.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I finally said, once I got over the nerves this man’s looks instilled in me.
“His loss then,” the man said, grinning. Perfect white teeth, straight, not a single chip or stain. A flawless smile, dimples included.
I turned my head to look at him straight on, which allowed him to see my eyes. I’d found that if I didn’t look at people, I couldn’t see their reactions to my unique stare—it’s why I hardly ever met strangers’ eyes. But this man, whoever he was, I just had to look at him, had to see his reaction to my heterochromia.
Whereas most would’ve simply commented on how striking my eyes were, how pretty they were, he barely even blinked as he said, “Your eyes, I’ve never seen anything like them. I bet they get you into a lot of trouble.”
I…wasn’t quite sure what he meant by it. Was he flirting with me, or did he make a genuine observation? I spoke the truth, “I try my best to stay away from trouble.”
A slight quirk in his mouth, not exactly a smile but a reaction I could not place. What I would give to be able to read minds, to know what he was thinking about in this moment.
“Oh,” he said slowly, running his finger over the rim of his glass. “Then you’ll probably want to steer clear of me.” He watched me for a reaction, but I gave him none. “I’m Edward, by the way. Or Ed. Whichever one you prefer.”
Despite myself, I was intrigued by this man. My thoughts of leaving the bar, my anger from Killian’s accusation, faded in my mind. Front and center was Edward. Ed. The stranger beside me who somehow intrigued me beyond all belief. I was never curious about strangers, not really. But this man…there was something different about him. I could feel it.
I was drawn to it, to him.
“Stella,” I said, knowing right then and there I could not leave. Not before I found out more about this man, not before I figured out why I was so drawn to him.
So I stayed, and I fully ignored the loud laughter and chatting coming from the pool table area. As night fell upon the world, the bar grew more packed, the tables and booths jammed with people, which only made it easier for me to ignore Killian and the rest of them. I never felt any texts from Callie, and I took it to mean she was having a good night with John.
“Stella,” Ed spoke my name carefully, as if he’d never spoken a name like it before. “You don’t seem like the type of person who belongs with those people.”
I looked at him sharply. “What do you mean by that?”
“There’s something about you that’s different,” he said. “Not bad, so please don’t think I’m insulting you. You’re just…different. It’s hard to explain.”
Studying him, I managed to say, “Funny you say that, because I get the same vibe from you. I feel like you’re not like anyone else either.” It was strange—I was almost smiling. This man, this stranger, made me want to smile.
We talked for a little while, but it was not long before my multiple refills of pop made me need to use the restroom. Using public restrooms, especially one in a bar, was not something I enjoyed, but I just couldn’t seem to leave and go home. I liked this man. I liked the way he looked at me—different, and not only because of my eyes. I had to know more about him before the night ended.
“I have to use the restroom, excuse me,” I said, sliding off the stool. Edward had scooted to the one beside me, and since then the others had been
taken up by other people. “Save my seat?”
Edward gave me a smile, like it was so easy for him to do it. “As if I’d want to sit beside anyone else.”
His reply made me…a bit self-conscious, actually. Was he trying to come on to me? I didn’t know these things, because I didn’t deal with guys that much, even though I was twenty-five. Callie always said I was a late bloomer. I wasn’t saving myself for marriage or anything like that—I just…I could never connect with anyone. Not enough to want to sleep with them.
I made my way to the restroom in the back, pushing against the ladies’ door and moving into the first stall, locking it behind me before I sat on the toilet. At least everything looked clean, relatively. For a bar. No puke or sticky floors.
It was as I was unrolling some toilet paper when someone else came into the bathroom, giggling drunkenly. The woman was not alone though, because as she passed my stall and went into the one beside mine, I saw another pair of feet following her.
I had to get out of here, fast. I didn’t want to listen to anyone doing the dirty in a restroom in a damn bar. It stunned me to think some people found it a good time; I just found it nasty and gross. Not the sex part, but the restroom in a bar part.
The sounds of a belt buckle being undone made me hurriedly wipe and pull my pants up. I was just about to flush and make a run for it when I heard the woman talk, practically purring as she said, “I’m going to make you feel so good.”
That was…Sandy’s voice.
“Maybe we shouldn’t…” The man spoke, and I instantly felt my stomach clench. Killian.
Killian and Sandy? What the hell? My mind had a hard time registering it. Sandy was nearly my mom’s age, and Killian…I always thought he a thing for me. Which wasn’t to say I owned him, but…it still felt like a betrayal of sorts.
“Shh,” Sandy murmured, and I heard her getting to her knees.
Oh. So she was just going to give him a blowjob. That’s all.
No—I couldn’t deal with this. I couldn’t. I couldn’t sit here and listen to that shit. Hell, I didn’t think I could even flush the toilet without one of them realizing it was me. Stupid, of course, because they’d probably seen me walk to the restroom in the first place.
And then, stupid, stupid me, I had a horrifying thought. What if Sandy saw me go to the restroom, and she dragged Killian back here on purpose? It wasn’t like we were dating, so both Killian and Sandy were free to do whatever it was they wanted with whomever they wanted, but to make me listen? Hell no.
I exited the stall as quietly as I could, practically tiptoeing. I didn’t even flush or wash my hands. Disgusting, but not as disgusting as listening to the wet sounds and the moans coming from the second stall.
Pushing out of the restroom, I paused in the back hall. It was much dimmer here than it was in the bar, and I could almost pretend to be home, alone, away from all of these people. How the hell was I supposed to ever look Sandy or Killian in the eye after that? How was I supposed to pretend I didn’t hear their little exchange? I wasn’t made for this, for being around people. I wanted to leave.
And I almost did.
I started from the hall, zigzagging through the people to get to the door, but then I saw Edward at the counter, and I instantly stopped. Halfway to the exit, I was close to being home-free, but then I’d leave him, and I’d never be able to dive into the reason why I felt so drawn to him.
No. You know what? Fuck Sandy and fuck Killian—not literally, of course, but metaphorically.
I was going to stay.
Chapter Four - Edward
Stella Wilson was not what I expected. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect. She was…pretty. Not in an overbearing way, but just pretty. How her dark brown hair was slightly messy, a little frizzy, like she tried to put herself together and couldn’t quite get the hang of it. Her lips weren’t the fullest, but they were shaped perfectly, her mouth still alluring in every way.
And, who could’ve ever imagined, her eyes. Her eyes were startling and unique and beautiful. I wasn’t lying when I said they probably got her into trouble, and I bet nearly everyone she met made comments about them—which was why I didn’t compliment her on them. It wasn’t like she created her eyes herself. She was born with them. They were incredibly beguiling, but they did not make the woman behind them.
She was…awkward. Socially inept. Stella was the type of person to act cool and collected, even when she was lost in her own thoughts. She hardly showed expression on her face.
I liked her.
I liked her even before she opened her mouth to speak, before she looked at me with those crazy-colored eyes. Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like her before meeting her—Lincoln was right. I was obsessed with her simply based on her articles.
But to finally put a face to the name, to see her trying to fit in with people who clearly didn’t understand her, it made me want her that much harder. Stella was not like any woman I’d ever met before. She was more like Lincoln and me, I knew, just from our conversation before she went to the restroom.
There was a darkness inside of her, and I wanted to unleash it.
I also wanted to tie her to my bed and fuck her raw, but one thing at a time.
As I waited for her, I wondered whether Lincoln would like her. We shared everything, whether we wanted to or not. It was just how we did things. Our kills, our conquests, our appetite for destruction. We were both hungry, carnal beasts. Would Stella be able to handle us both?
Hmm. I was getting too far ahead of myself. I wasn’t even certain she liked me.
That would be the first step.
Patience was not one of my virtues, and I found myself growing annoyed at everyone around me. The nonstop laughter, the clinking of glasses on tables, the munching of nuts by the men beside me. There were too many people in the world. Lincoln and I were doing it a favor by trimming its numbers.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, I saw Stella emerge from the hall in the back. I watched her with interest as she headed straight for the door, like she was going to leave. Her face looked…distraught. Almost. She stopped about halfway to the door, slowly turning her head to look at me.
I didn’t want her to leave. I’d just found her—she wasn’t getting away from me that easily.
Just as I started to think of ways to get her to stay, whether I’d have to follow her home or not—I would find out eventually where she spent her nights alone and asleep—Stella came to me, deciding against leaving. Still, I was a little hurt, so as she slipped onto the stool beside mine, I muttered, “Don’t stay on my account.”
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding too sorry at all. “I’m just…” Stella trailed off, glancing over her shoulder, at her group of coworkers, still hanging around the pool table. I noticed then two of them were gone—the one who said she only liked murderers, and the middle-aged woman who reeked of desperation.
Was that why she looked uneasy? Did she see them hooking up?
I didn’t even really know the woman beside me, and yet I grew angry on her behalf. It was clear it troubled her, and I didn’t want to see her pretty face distraught, even if it was only a little.
“Hey,” I spoke softly, “you doing okay? Did something happen?” I hated playing dumb. It was not one of my strong suits. I always knew more than I let on, and this woman—she might have everyone else fooled, but I could see right through her.
She craved the darkness. She craved it and didn’t even realize it. Luckily for her, I was here now, and I would show her just how beautiful and unrelenting the darkness could be.
Stella shook her head. “No, I’m fine. It’s nothing.” She preferred to keep her thoughts and her secrets to herself, which was fine…I didn’t mind prying them out of her. I planned on doing much more to her tonight.
Though I knew all about her, I still found myself asking, “So, Stella, what do you do for a living?” I couldn’t exactly tell her I already knew what she did, and that I’
d pretty much followed her coworkers here after stalking her place of work all day, hoping she’d be here. It was pure luck she came on her own, I knew.
“I work for the Local Tribune,” Stella said, reaching for her glass, but she didn’t drink it. Did she worry whether or not I put something in it while she was gone? Women were paranoid these days, for good reason. There was always someone willing to take advantage of them, especially when they were at their weakest point. When I took a woman to bed, I made sure she always wanted it.
Killing…well, that was another story.
“The paper?” I asked. “What do you write?” She wrote about killers, had a blog about them too. I had read every single article this woman had ever written. I even went into her backlog from years ago and read the blog articles she wrote while she was in high school.
This woman had been obsessed with the darkness for a long time.
I couldn’t blame her, though. I liked the darkness too. It was more a home to me than anything, more a parent to me than my actual parents. Lincoln and I weren’t related in the strictest of sense, but we were like brothers in that way. We were both so immeasurably fucked up, and we reveled in it.
Stella took her time to answer me, “I write about killers. Serial killers, specifically.”
I nodded along, pretending to just now realize it. “You know, I think I actually have read some of your stuff. The online articles. You’re a good writer.” Compliments were not things I gave freely, yet here I was, giving them to this woman. This pretty, broken woman who put on a mask anytime she was in public.
What would she look like beneath her mask? What thoughts raced inside that head of hers?
She shrugged my compliment off—which she wouldn’t have done, if she’d known how rare they were. “Only when I’m writing about things that interest me. I think my boss is getting tired of my articles, though.” Stella rubbed her bare arms, as if she was cold. “Even though he was the one who said I could write whatever I want.”
Cruel Black Hearts: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance Page 3
