The Good Bad Girl

Chapter 8 The mask that lifted

"Asher Hill,"

My mind numbed when Klaus echoed my husband's name in the earpiece. The same man standing less than four feet away from me. He is my husband. 

Ex

Used-to-be husband. 

Whatever tag I have for him. He is standing in front of me. Long dark hair tied in a low ponytail, strong broody shoulders with forearms that promote veins like a spiderweb. His face is so sharp and masculine with weeks worth of stubble neatly trimmed on his cheek.

A strong electric current runs inside me as I take in the person in front of me as my husband. Asher Hill is his name. 

Once upon a time, my name was attached to his. Olivia Asher Hill. My frown relaxes as goosebumps coat the darkest shells of my nerves. A few seconds in, I was still standing in front of me when out of nowhere my flight instincts hit me and I backed away.

Fuck, I can't deal with him right now. Leona's dead body is inside and I have one and a half hour to clean the mess before Victor, her husband gain consciousness. As if reading my moves, he jumps toward me and quickly catches me from behind, taking me to the room opposite Leona's.

Fuck.

His hold is tight and strong. I can say he is active in physical activity but I am not a baby myself. I have taught myself enough fighting techniques to deal with this Hulk man.

The minute he locks the door, I head-bump him as hard as I can. His grip loses and I take advantage of skipping out of it. I head to the nearest wall and take support before hitting him with the back of my elbow. 

There.

I stood on my foot and took a breath.

He tumbles backward but doesn't budge further than that. His stupid hulky figure helps him take my attack pretty easily. I try to land a punch in his abdomen and push him with my knees. 

Luckily, this time his foot loses its balance and he falls backwards not before wrapping his hand and taking me with him on the floor. I land on his chest, which feels like a wall before he turns our position and locks me beneath him. 

"Will you calm down?" he says, the thickness of his voice travels straight to my womanhood. 

Fuck.

He pulls my arm up and locks it under his giant fingers, his thighs pressing my legs down from evoking movements, and the sweet weight of his body crushing me like bedsheets.

"Get your hands off me," I say—venom cursing my every word. 

"What if I don't?" 

I blink, staring at his emerald irises like a cartographer studying maps. I trace the depths of his green eyes and suck a breath. Fuck, what is wrong with me? 

He seems to be doing the same. His eyes travel the curves of my face before he tucks his head into my neck and all my blood freezes. Shivers climb at every corner of my cell when I feel his beard on my skin, his teeth touching the soft surface of my cheek before dragging my mask away from me.

I close my eyes at the prickling sensation.

It didn't take him time to rip the mask away from my face. The minute I felt the air on my exposed skin, I shut my eyes. I don't know why I am so afraid of him seeing me but the last time someone saw me, I wasn't this.

A murderer. 

Shame and regret cover me and I keep my eyes closed. I don't want to see the look on his face. I don't want him to see me like this. A broken angel, going around town killing people who have wronged her.

 The gravity of his stare swallows me deep in the pit. I can feel his eyes moving from my eyes to the bridge of my nose and stopping at my lips. The curve of my jawline, the freckles that I got from my mom, a soft mole on the tip of my nose that Dad always used to say belongs to the stars that left it for me.

"Mi Zorro," he whispered and my heart picked a beat. 

Thud, 

Thud,

Thud.

"Open your eyes, Mi Zorro," there was a desperation in his tone that wasn't there a minute ago. 

I couldn't help but follow his voice and open them only to get my heart stuck in my throat. Our eyes collide like two lost souls who finally found their home. I trace the outline of his face and imprint it in my heart as if I am scared to forget what he looks like. Carving and inking lines of his face in the palette of my breath.

What is happening?

"Mierda," he says and my eyes drop to his lips. Our chests follow each other's beat like the lyrics of a song. Currents. Lots of them engulf me when he dips his head and our lips touch.

I shudder.

His grip loosens around my wrist and like a switch, my common sense washes me. I quickly jerked him away and stood up. My hair fell to my shoulders in a beachy wave covering my face. The mask wasn't only hiding my face. It had a grip on my hair and when he ripped it off. My hair opened.

The dark brown curls fall down. I take a last look at him on the floor still hypnotized by our earlier contact. Our eyes connect again and before I do something else, I jump out of the balcony.