Chapter 5 Is He Dead?

Alina’s POV

I tried to steady my voice, keeping my tone ice-cold as I faced Blair. “It’s not my fault she caught feelings.”

“Fuck you, Alina,” her voice cracked behind me. Of course she’s crying. I turned back around, and sure enough, tears were tracing down her face. Was she made of glass, shattering at the slightest pressure? Pathetic.

“Get your ass out of my house before I get back tonight,” I snapped, walking right past her.

Inside my room, I raided my closet for maximum impact: a micro-crop top paired with a slick, black liquid-latex skirt. I stood before the mirror and gave myself an approving nod. Sexy. Lethal. Undeniably straight.

The top stopped just beneath my breasts, leaving my midriff entirely exposed while putting my cleavage on full display. The micro-skirt hugged every curve down to the top of my thighs, paired with knee-length boots and a swipe of lip gloss. I grabbed my bag and headed for the stairs.

Muffled voices drifted from the living room, for all I care. I just wanted the blonde out of my house before I returned. The last thing I needed was someone trying to corrupt my preferences—not that a girl could ever tempt me anyway.

Let's be real: what was the point of having a body meant for a real man if you were wasting it on another woman? It made zero sense. Call me judgy, call me whatever you want, but I’ve never understood the appeal of playing house with someone who doesn't even own a dick.

Dismissing the thought, I stepped into the room. The blonde’s face was dry-eyed, while Blair looked thoroughly exhausted. I almost laughed. My girl definitely needs a dick I’m sure of it. 

“You going out?” Blair eyed my outfit.

“What does it look like?” I rolled my eyes, heading to the kitchen fridge to crack open a can of cold alcohol. I popped the tab with a manicured nail and downed half of it in one go.

I marched back over, pointing a finger at the blonde. “You. Out of my house before I’m back.” Then I turned my gaze to Blair. “And if she’s still here when I walk through that door, don't ever expect to see me again. I mean it.”

Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my keys, snatched my bag, and stormed out. Am I cruel? Absolutely. Am I unhinged? Trust me, you haven't seen the half of it.

I tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, and started the engine. My phone buzzed in my hand.

Zain: Babe, I need you. My dick hasn't gotten hard all day.

I let out a dry chuckle and tapped back a single reply: On my way.

Am I a slut? Fuck no. I don’t let just anyone touch me. I just happen to have a high sex drive, and I only let the eligible ones climb aboard. Never in a million years would I waste my time on a broke, limp-wristed amateur.

An hour later, I pulled into his complex, grabbed my things, and walked straight inside.

Zain was named from his waist up, a towel slung low around his waist, barking into his phone. He must have just stepped out of the shower; his dirty-blonde hair was damp, clinging to the pale skin of his broad back. I glanced down, his legs were cleanly shaved. Good.

Growing impatient with his endless call, I closed the distance, trailed a single nail down his shoulder, and snatched the phone right out of his hand, aggressively mashing the red end-call button. Before he could react, I leaped straight into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. God, I missed this.

“No patience, huh?” he chuckled darkly, burying his face straight into my chest, sucking hard through the thin fabric of my top. A sharp jolt of electricity rippled through me.

He carried me over to the sofa, dropped me down, and tore the top away, exposing my skin to his hungry eyes. He crashed his mouth onto mine in a rough, bruising kiss that left me breathless, his hand already sliding down to rub relentlessly against my core.

He ripped the skirt off, kicking it aside without a second thought. I reached down, untied his towel, and wrapped my hand around his thick, heavy length. Whoever said I wasn't straight needs to burn in hell.

Kicking my panties away, he didn't waste a single second. He drove straight into me.

“Ah—fuck!” I hissed, the initial stretch burning like fire. He didn't ease up. He pulled back and slammed into me again, harder this time.

“Oh, fuck, Zain!” I cried out, arching my back as he pounded into me with ruthless precision. Am I really that tight?  The pain dissolved instantly into a blinding wave of pure ecstasy. 

My hips bucked in rhythm with his, my entire body tightening like a coiled spring. Just as he shoved in one final, punishing stroke, a hot rush flooded inside me, and I shattered, screaming his name into the quiet room.

“Come here, mama,” he panted, collapsing back against the cushions and stroking his spent length.

I stared down at him with a flash of cold disgust. Did he really think I was going to kneel and clean him up? Put my mouth on the exact same place he pees out of? Absolutely not.

“I’m done here,” I muttered, shoving him off and reaching for my clothes.

Suddenly, a deafening crack shattered the silence.

Glass and lead.

“What the actual fuck—!” Zain yelled, leaping off the sofa stark naked, scrambling toward the kitchen. I dropped flat behind the sofa, my heart slamming against my ribs. Not now. Not like this.

The front door blew wide open in a splintering crash. 

More bullets ripped through the air, tearing into the walls. Zain sprinted back into the living room, weapon raised, firing blindly toward the entryway.

Before he could pull the trigger a second time, bullets fly towards him. 

I watched in frozen horror as Zain’s body went completely rigid, then slumped hard onto the hardwood floor. His eyes stayed wide open, staring straight past me into empty space.

Is he dead?