Kylie Bray (Love, Hate and Billions) novel Chapter 46

“Do you remember their faces?” Vincent asks me.

A week has gone since I was rescued from my hell. Seven days too late.

I begged Vincent not to tell the Stones or anyone what happened to me in there.

The condition is that I tell him everything.

Deno has the videos, I don't need to, they can watch, get a glimpse inside Kylie Bray's assassination.

She is dead, gone. I am not Kylie Bray any longer, I am Frost, I told him that.

I feel nothing, no pain, no remorse, no wrong or right.

Well, that isn't quite accurate, I still feel for him. I hate him. He keeps me alive when I want to die.

That thought makes me want to laugh, and I do. I laugh and laugh until he gets up and leaves.

Then I scream into my pillow. This fucking bed is driving me crazy, it's so soft.

I want to be on the floor but every time I am on the floor he gets me up.

“I hate you,” I scream, knowing he is listening.

Vincent is always fucking listening.

He walks back into the room with that fucking glass of his, drinking his brandy.

“Get the fuck out,” I scream at him.

“Careful Kylie, my patience is getting thin.”

“My patience is getting thin Kylie.” I mimic his words, taunting him on.

He finishes his drink, walking slowly next to the bed, putting it down.

Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he sits on the edge of the bed.

I'm playing with fire, he is thinking it.

I know I am, because I want to get burned.

I want him to kill me.

“Kill me. I want to die,” I snap at him, bringing my face close to his.

He takes my hand that is closest to his and picks it up, revealing my wrist. I watch the action, is he going to slit it and make it look like a suicide.

Vincent has never not surprised me, never not done the opposite of what I think he will.

I look into his drunk face, because that is what he is, he is always drinking his fucking brandy,

“All of them, okay, thirty three men raped me, lucky number thirty three,” I laugh, howling like the crazy person I am.

He never minds or stops it, even if he did, he can go fuck himself for all I care.

“So I was thinking, do I add them to my fuck list or not.”

The thought just makes me laugh harder.

His eyes widen, lifting his brandy now with trembling fingers. I don’t stop laughing watching him swallow the double shot left in the glass and set it down.

“Change your clothes we leaving.”

“Where to?”

“To see a man about a dog.”

I roll my eyes, at his poor attempt of a joke,

“Does this man have a name?”

“Yes.”