DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE My Dark Desire: Chapter 9
The bright chandeliers blinded me for a moment.
I blinked to adjust my eyes.
I felt bare. Naked and exposed.
I knew what I looked like. With my tattered clothes and my hair pulled back. Tomato stains up and down my arms. A freaking spatula nestled in my fist.
Normally, I wouldn’t care. But I wanted Zach to see me as his equal.
Vera pointed at me, turning her gaze to her guest. “There she is.”
Everything—from her voice to her fingertips—shook.
Zach folded his arms across his chest, the epitome of casual. His presence filled up the room like he’d been carved into it, sculpted in marble.
An immaculate haircut highlighted that thick, glossy tar hair, not a single strand out of place.
With his navy cashmere sweater pulled over a smart dress shirt and pale gray slacks, he would auction for a billion dollars and some change.
A tiny smirk pulled at the right side of his mouth. Almost too slight to see.
He peered down his nose at me, so tall and larger than life. “Mrs. Ballantine?”
Even as he spoke to Vera, his eyes never budged from me. As if I’d somehow escape if he gave me an inch.
The gravity of the situation crashed on me. Back pressed against the shelves. A cornered animal. Utterly humiliated.
Didn’t mean I had to accept it.
I deposited the spatula on a random shelf, jerked my chin up, and met his gaze head-on.
Vera scuttled to his side. “Yes?”
“Privacy, please.”
“Farrow, get you—”
“No, Vera.” Zach straightened to his full height, stepping away from the island. “You are leaving.”
“But…”
“I did not ask for your opinion. I asked you to kindly fuck off.”
Holy shit.
He really was pissed.
Well, you did try to steal something of his.
Scratch that.
Something of mine.
I needed to remember that. It made all the difference.
“You and I aren’t done.” Vera pivoted back to me and wagged her French-manicured finger in my face. “Not by a long shot.”
“Don’t worry, Mommy.” I winked at her. “I’m not going anywhere, whether you like it or not.”
Sure, I had to play by her rules, but that didn’t mean I had to be a good sport.
Nothing about Dad’s death made sense.
It happened at his prime. Sudden and violent.
One moment, he’d stood before a restaurant entrance, waiting for the valet to pull up. And the other, the valet crashed into him at the speed of light.
The tests came back clean.
No alcohol. No drugs.
The valet claimed his foot got stuck on the accelerator and received a five-year sentence. The judge felt sorry for him. For his sick wife. For their innocent baby.
I felt bad for him, too.
But I felt even worse for myself.
That was two years ago, and I was still licking the wounds, which showed no signs of healing.
With a displeased grunt, Vera tromped her way into the living room. Still close enough to eavesdrop, of course.
The minute she evacuated my personal space, I ventured out of the pantry.
“No.” Zach strolled to me, raising one palm. “Stay where you are. Rats fit right into dark holes.”
I slipped out, anyway. “Speaking of dark holes, anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”
“Not aloud, but I’m sure many share the sentiment.”
On instinct, I drifted to a utensil drawer, yanking it open to arm myself with the sharpest thing I could find.
He slammed it shut with his hip before I could reach for a steak knife.
Killer instincts.
Noted.
He tsked. “If I were you, I wouldn’t try anything funny.” His colossal frame blocked any path I could take out of here. Not that it mattered now that he knew my identity. There’d be no escaping him. “Not only can I outsmart you, I can also out-kill you. And I am currently very tempted to do so, little thief.”
A burst of pure energy flooded my veins. “Fuck you, big bucks. You and your stupid friends don’t scare me.”
No way had I grown that paranoid the past couple days.
I’d felt someone following me, the little hairs on the back of my neck saluting the stranger each time I entered and exited a new home to clean.
A private investigator, perhaps, since I doubted these trust-fund babies would ever perform manual labor personally.
And if it wasn’t Zach, it must’ve been one of his fancy friends.
I’d heard the rumors.
All three of them were thick as thieves and prone to throwing their weight around the DMV to get whatever and whomever they wanted. Well, not me.
I swiveled past Zach, headed for the door. “Go pester another kid on the playground.”
He unleashed a dramatic sigh.
That was when I felt it. A metallic thing kissing my lower back.
Cold, sharp, and unmistakable.
A knife.
What kind of psychopath walked around with a freaking knife? In broad daylight, too?
Then, I remembered he’d sent a fancy one soaring in my direction when I’d escaped him at the party.
Zachary Sun loved his weapon.
He was a far cry from the unimpeachable and elegant version of himself, who popped onto Bloomberg panels to discuss rising start-ups.
A savage in designer suits.
And he was officially, unapologetically my problem.
“I strongly advise you don’t run away from this particular conversation.”
I shuddered, more from the baritone rumble of his voice than the knife digging into my lower back.
He wouldn’t stab me. I just didn’t know how far he’d take this.
I stopped but didn’t turn to face him.
Zach pressed the flat edge deeper into my flesh. “Unless, of course, you aren’t very fond of your ability to walk.”
He should be worried about my ability to castrate him with an épée. Because that just officially became my new goal in life.
Though he couldn’t see it, I plastered on a smile, ignoring my skyrocketing pulse. “I’m flattered, Mr. Sun, that you think my measly life is worthy of a life in prison for you.”
“I’m surprised, Miss Ballantine, that you think I’d ever be subjected to such a fate. I am far too rich, powerful, and smart to serve even a minute in any six-by-eight room that isn’t a sauna. Plus, if you turn around, you’ll notice something very interesting about my knife.”
I twisted on my heel, taking my sweet time, building anticipation, not showing an ounce of the panic I felt.
If Zachary Sun wanted my complete submission, he’d have to rip it from my bloody hands.
When my body faced his, I noticed our distance. At least two giant steps separated us.
My eyes crawled down to the knife stabbing my hip bone. Thick black velvet hugged everything but the blade.
My breath caught inside my throat. “Velvet doesn’t catch fingerprints.”
Of course, he knew that.
What the heck didn’t this man know?
His eyes held mine. “No weapon, no crime.”
“This can’t be legal.”
“Everything is legal when you know the right people.” Something deliciously dark gleamed in his eyes. “Laws are for people like you. Lawyers are for people like me.”
“You’re a fraud. Nothing like how they portray you in the media.” The words burst past clenched teeth. If I lessened the pressure of my bite, even a smidge, my teeth would clatter from angry, vicious tremors. “How many people know that you’re a monster?”
“Not many. Only those who bother to look past my exterior. It’s too convenient not to, though. I’m a highly useful creature to most.”
The tip of his knife drifted from my hip bone toward the space between my navel and the waistband of my jeans.
A pool of heat gathered between my legs.
What the hell is wrong with you, Fae?
But I couldn’t help it.
Something about the power he oozed got me. I’d lived in one of the richest zip codes my entire life, yet I’d never experienced anyone quite like Zachary Sun.
His knife stopped just shy of my sex. He licked his lips, subconsciously. “You could be one of them, you know.”
My whole body came alive, my pulse stuttering beneath every inch of my skin.
I wanted more.
And yet, I wanted nothing to do with him at all.
Logic dictated that someone like him would be shit in bed. He had all the wrong traits of a talented lover.
Too selfish.
Too beautiful.
Too narcissistic.
But I still would.
My eyes jerked up, crashing into his. He had no trouble meeting my eye contact. He wasn’t a psychopath.
No. He was something else completely.
The only monster of his kind.
“A deal with the devil?”
He stared down his nose at me, every inch of him a frozen tundra. “The only thing you lose out of striking such a deal is your soul, and that isn’t worth too much.”
An impregnable lump blocked any words from escaping my throat.
I cleared it, curling my nails into my palm. “How do you know?”
He shrugged, his knife still digging into my core, to the space where warmth swirled. “Most people do not possess them in the first place.”
“Maybe I don’t have a soul, either.”
Are you really talking to Zachary Sun about souls right now?
What is wrong with you?
The answer, of course, was a lot.
A whole bunch, in fact.
But every minute we spoke was a minute he didn’t stab me.
Yeah. That’s why, Fae.
Keep telling yourself that.
He drew slight circles with the flat edge of his knife, sending fireworks from my core to my toes. “You do.”
“How do you know?”
“You reek of it.” His jaw clenched under smooth golden skin. “And I’m a soul collector.”
Are you drunk?
He didn’t look it, but he sure sounded it.
I meant to ask, but all I could manage was, “You collect souls?”
“The most underrated currency in the world. Everybody wants one, and they’re hard to come by. That’s why people purchase art. Art makes you feel alive.”
“Only if you’re already living.”
“Even if you’re a breath away from death,” he countered, drawing an indecipherable pattern against me. Just when I’d thought nothing affected him, he spared a single glance downward. The blade grazed the tiny sliver of bare skin above my waistband. “Once I have someone’s soul, they’re a pawn in my hand.”
This man’s brand of fucked up made Michael Myers resemble a Teletubby. A psychology thesis could be written on how well he managed to hide it with ethereal looks and flawless manners.
I wondered if Vera and the girls were eavesdropping on us from the living room.
From this angle, we couldn’t see beyond the vacant doorframe, but I wouldn’t put it past them. They loved good gossip almost as much as they enjoyed seeing me punished.
I tapped my lips. “Know what I think?”
“No. You can keep your two cents. You look broke.”
I ignored his quip. “You’re hiding something. You don’t seem like the type to carry weapons around.”
I realized, after I said it, that I wasn’t really scared.
Enthralled, angry, and ready for battle? Of course.
But scared? As crazy as it sounded, even with his knife aimed directly at me, I didn’t truly feel unsafe.
He shook his head. “You have no idea what kind of man I am.”
His dusky, gleaming eyes scraped down my frame. I seized the opportunity to grip the knife. I aimed for the handle, but my fingers accidentally brushed against his.
Zach hissed, pulling away like my touch had branded him.
His expression turned feral. He stumbled back, eyes glazed over with something I’d never seen before.
Not on him.
Not on anyone.
His back bumped into the sink with a loud thump. I was so surprised by his visceral reaction, I staggered in the opposite direction, too.
“Do not touch me.”
The words came out harsher than he’d ever spoken to me. For once, he didn’t whisper, hiss, or husk.
That simple statement lacked any control.
Against all logic, I straightened, forcing my shoulders back. The idea that I’d somehow turned the tables thrilled me.
Whatever your weak point is, I’m going to find it. And then I’m going to press it until you bleed out.
I white-knuckled the edge of the counter behind me, forcing my bloodlust to retreat. My heart beat so hard, I feared it would break my ribcage and rip out of my flesh.
I couldn’t afford that hospital bill.
Zach clasped the knife with shaking fingers. I replayed the last few seconds. He’d ordered me not to touch him, rather than his knife.
It could be nothing, but my gut said otherwise.
I conjured all the confidence I could muster, certain I was onto something. “So, what? You’re going to kill me now?”
The muscles in my stomach burned.
I felt charged. A live wire. Buzzing with anger and ire and life.
I wanted to pounce on this man and strangle him. To finish that Go game. To show him what I was made of.
I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made me feel much of anything other than Dad.
Friends, boys, acquaintances—they all came and went.
Zach held his jaw, working it back and forth. His knife still pointed at me, just in case. He seemed thoughtful all of a sudden.
I needed to pry him away from his own thoughts.
“You had a deal to offer me,” I reminded him. “I’m listening.” Reluctantly.
His lips curved up in a snarl. “You think you deserve a deal?” Pretty boy, ugly soul.
“I think you’re still here, and you’ve put some thought into my identity, so obviously, you found something you’ve been seeking in me. Don’t let your pride get in the way of your objective. I’m sure there’s enough people out there to stroke that giant ego of yours. I don’t need to be one of them.”
I could tell by his expression that he thought I spoke too much, fought too hard, and was a general headache.
He never wavered in his stance. “You’re the hired help.”
Summing up my entire existence through my job description.
Nice.
“I’m a housekeeper,” I corrected, straightening my spine, not ashamed in the slightest. “Well, if you want to get to the real nitty-gritty of things, I own Maid in Maryland with my fa—” I started to say family, but they didn’t deserve the title. Not by a long shot. “With my stepmother, mostly.”
Zach treaded closer, collecting himself after that weird moment between us. “Your stepmother is useless.”
I could smell him again.
His inimitable, outdoorsy scent that made me think of Scandinavian woods and merciless winters.
I might be smart, but my body was obviously a dumbass. Even if Zach Sun were the devil, I’d willingly let him drag me into darkness.
I was Persephone, eagerly following him into the underworld.
“That’s not true. She has many uses. If you ever struggle to fall asleep, ask her to talk to you about her wardrobe woes.”
“What I don’t get is…” He tightened his grip on the knife, placing the blunt edge of the blade on my collarbone and gliding it up my throat, ever so slowly. My breath hitched. “…why the only person in this family with an actual functioning brain became everyone’s designated bitch, Octi.”
Ah.
A question for the ages.
I contemplated lying to him for a moment. The truth was, by far, the most vulnerable thing one could share about themselves.
But I decided against it.
Zachary Sun would call me out on my bullshit before I even finished my sentence. There was no point hiding things from him, even if I knew he was full of secrets.
Distinctly aware they could very well be eavesdropping, I lowered my voice, swatting the knife away from my chin.
“I have some issues to sort out before I can part ways with them. Legal stuff.” I scowled. “Anyway, didn’t you come here to yell at me for the pendant?”
Yes. I was so desperate to change the topic that I didn’t mind being shouted at.
“Yelling is hysterical and pointless. You deserve punishment, not a slap on the wrist.” With the tip of his knife, Zach tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. “Which brings me back to our deal.”
I swallowed hard, somewhere between pissed off and intrigued. I really ought to be scared of this man.
I didn’t know why I couldn’t bring myself to conjure that particular emotion. Maybe because he seemed too controlled to kill someone offhandedly.
Or maybe it was something else.
The way he held his knife almost reminded me of how my elderly neighbor clutched on to his walking cane. Or how the toddler across the street held on to her blankie.
As if he used it often. Casually. Like an accessory to help him with his daily tasks.
I pinched my lips together. “Aw, what will you do? Force me into marriage like that psychopath friend of yours?”
Everyone knew Romeo Costa had dragged his Southern belle wife down the aisle by the ear, kicking and screaming.
That they were now the most praised and admired couple in this zip code didn’t matter in the slightest.
Their origin story had forever seared into my brain.
How he’d locked her in that golden cage of his.
How she rattled the bars, bent them into the shape of his heart, and wore him down, chipping his exterior bit by bit until he was completely and undeniably hers.
A legend of a dark Romeo and a stubborn Juliet, the rumor mill whispered. A rewritten classic where everyone got their happy ending.
I wasn’t Dallas Costa, though.
If, by some wild stroke of disaster, Zach Sun forced me into marriage, I wouldn’t play the long game.
I’d probably stab him in his sleep with my épée.
Zach reared his head back, staring at me as if I’d hallucinated him. “No offense, Miss Ballantine, but I would sooner marry a wild coyote than you. At least the coyote would be exceptionally more pleasant to spend time with. Plus, if I feed it, I might have a chance at domesticating it.”
I smiled, making sure to flash my canines. “Careful. It might also kick your ass at Go.”
“Easy there, Little Octopus. I do recall you ran away from the game because you’d backed yourself into a trap.”
I could finish that game fine.
I’d replayed it in my head before bed every night since the soirée. The side effect of a stellar memory and an unhealthy obsession with victory.
I knew where each stone rested. Anticipated every move he could make. And most importantly, how I’d use them against him.
I narrowed my eyes, glancing at the clock on the wall behind him. “What do you want, then?”
I had lots of work to get to.
The leftover lasagna on the floor wasn’t going to clean itself, and at this rate, the Ahmadi family had every right to dock my pay for showing up late.
Zach took his time answering, standing before me in all his unapologetic, unreasonably attractive glory.
Hard, cold, and unrelenting.
A flawless sculpture abandoned before the varnish.
“You.”