Maybe I’m insane.
That sounds perfectly reasonable.
But once more, I dismiss the prospect that I’m making all of this up. I may not have all my memories back—only brief glimpses and snippets—but the power I feel coursing through my veins is very, very real. When I looked up at that blood-red moon, something changed irreversibly inside of me. I’m no longer Emily Lopez. I’m something greater, something more.
And Helio, my silent giant with the all-seeing onyx eyes, is a part of that.
“You’ve been watching me,” I say slowly, watching as he takes a lumbering step forward. He’s so big that his muscles contract with every movement he makes. I remember vividly how it feels to trace the bulging veins on his biceps with my lips. Isn’t that ironic? I don’t remember my true parents’ name, but I remember how his skin tastes. If that doesn’t say something about my hussy vagina, then I don’t know what does.
“Yes,” he answers in that rough, raspy voice. It’s not a smoker’s voice, though. As far as I know, Helio has never smoked a day in his life. It’s merely him. Every word he says sounds gravelly and husky, a low, seductive tone that never fails to make goosebumps pebble on my arms.
Something occurs to me then, and the intensity of it has me dropping the lamp and collapsing back on the couch. It’s as if I can’t continue using my muscles, as if my legs have failed me, as if my lungs can no longer take in oxygen.
“Are you…” I trail off, swallow, before trying again. “Are you trying to kill me?”
CHAPTER 9
HELIO
I’ve watched her for weeks.
When the order came, promising a hefty sum of cash to put down an unknown female, I jumped at the opportunity.
I hid in the shadows, constantly vigilant and constantly watching her.
I remember the first time I saw her, approximately four weeks ago. She was walking to one of her classes, lips curved into a genuine smile as she walked alongside a blond-haired boy. Everyone she passed waved to her, smiled at her, wanted to be her. And, at least in the men’s cases, wanted to have her.
So I watched, blending into the shadows as seamlessly as a ghost. And that is what I am—a ghost. An entity that only exists at night, that parents tell their kids about before bed and around a campfire in order to scare them. I’m a nightmare embodied, and Emily Lopez is an unattainable daydream.
I had the opportunity to kill her once. She was leaving work, completely oblivious to my presence. As she turned the corner, my knife a hair’s breadth away from her sensitive neck, I found that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t snuff her light out.
Instead, I watched her. Memorized her.
It wasn’t just because she was gorgeous, though there was no denying that she was. With dark hair framing a cherubic, innocent face, she could’ve been plucked straight from my fantasies. No, it wasn’t just that. It was something else, this innate need inside of me that demanded I protect her.
Now, she’s here in my home, staring up at me from beneath thick lashes. Her question, though innocent in nature, gives me a pause.
Am I trying to kill her?
The logical answer should be an abrupt no, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s my job to kill her, and I’ve never once failed before. It’s what makes me the best assassin in the United States.
“Well, that’s just fucking lovely,” she scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air. The movement lifts the bottom of the skin-tight shirt she’s required to wear for work. I catch a glimpse of a lean, tanned stomach, and for some undefinable reason, my cock begins to harden. She jumps up abruptly, lips pulling away from her teeth in a snarl…though I’ll be the first to admit it’s more cute than terrifying.
“How do you know my name?” I rumble. Nobody—not even my supervisor—knows my real name. I’m known as the Butcher by the people in my community. Helio is the name I was born with, but the Butcher is who I’ve become.
“Are. You. Going. To. Kill. Me?” she demands, stalking forward until her face is centimeters from my own. I inhale her sweet, honey scent as my cock continues to twitch in my pants. Why do I have such a strong, visceral reaction to her? I’m not a virgin…at least, I don’t think I am. I don’t have any memories of fucking a woman, but surely, I must have, right? When I close my eyes, I remember slipping my cock between wet folds as a woman screams my name and calls me…pumpkin.
Yeah, my fantasies are fucked up, even for me.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, running the pad of my thumb across her neck. For a brief moment, I imagine a blade in place of my finger, and the thought sends dread rippling down my spine.
“Do you want to?” she breathes, those sooty lashes of hers fluttering.
I continue to regard her curiously, warily almost, as she meets my gaze without any fear. Grown men have cowered in terror when in my proximity, yet this slip of a girl—barely the height of my chest—is glaring up at me as if I’d personally offended her.
Keeping my face blank, I search her face carefully. I only kill the bad and the wicked—the people who deserve it.
And Emily Lopez? She most definitely does not deserve to be put down by my blade.
I practically sag in relief at the direction of my thoughts, at the way I had justified sparing her life. I know in my heart that this woman does not deserve to die.
As I stare into her gorgeous eyes, I feel myself falling. Not physically, of course, but mentally. Falling into her. Falling into her essence that curls around me like rays of sunlight.
And then, I remember.
THE GODDESS of Pain is
