CHAPTER FIVE | PLAYTOY

KOLSON

I PARKED MY half-beaten car behind a flock of trees in the corner of the gated neighbourhood, knowing I had to walk the rest of the mile up to her family's estate.

At the edge of the private community, Ted Harding's Mediterranean-styled mansion rested on top of a fenced hillside, sprawling into the encircling acres of snow-washed land and sleeping trees. The white stone covered villa had fresh ivy climbing up the clay-slated roof and around the eight car garage. The interior stupidly boasted of six bedrooms and four family sized suites alongside an indoor pool, a dance studio, a home-theater and a wine cellar that could all but provide the state with world-war three shelter.

The entire place left a bad taste of rich, famous and half-witted in my mouth.

There was no going back now.

Frankly, I had no idea what I was doing here. In this town, in this community, in front of her house.

I just knew something crawled inside me when it came to her. I couldn't stop myself from looking for her, not when I knew she was finally within arm's reach. It was absurd and I hated myself for it, but I had always been slightly unhinged when it came to Sunday Harding.

Also, when everyone treated you like a fucking idiot, you were allowed to act like one from time to time.

As I neared the estate, careful not to be seen by the numerous security cameras, I spotted the window to Sunday's room on the upper second story of the house slightly ajar. I could have genuinely laughed.

Foolish little bird.

Pulling my black hood up, I slid past an opening in the fenced railing. I crouched down into the snow and paused for any alarms, but none came. This time, I didn't stop the helpless snicker that left me. It was all too fucking easy.

Rounding the corner underneath Sunday's window, I climbed the thick ivy roots leading up to her room. Another minuscule twitch touched my lips as I stationed myself against the window ledge and peered through the gap into her empty bedroom. I heard the modest stream of water running from the adjoining bathroom, making it all too effortless to lift the bottom of the glass window up with my knee and slip inside.

Sunday's room possessed the same nanoscopic amount of character as its watered-down owner. The dull-leaden blue colored walls and rustic hardwood floors were the only spots of color in the otherwise blandly furnished room. A plasma TV and several monotone paintings were positioned in front of her king-sized bed, littered with enough pillows to smother a rich husband in his sleep.

I lounged against the windowsill, letting the cool draft blow into the room. Good ole' Ted the Third obviously wasn't accustomed to having to idiot-proof his honored abode.

The bathroom door creaked open and Sunday stepped into the room, padding damp footprints onto her pristine floor, completely unaware I was lurking in the shadows. The scent of her sweet earthly shampoo wafted into my nose, a nauseating potion of citrus and sandalwood.

The dim moonlight that filtered into her room illuminated her little meek figure. My eyes slowly fell down across her body. Unable to help myself, I painfully looked her over, noticing every flash of warm skin underneath her thin white bathrobe. Slender shoulders poked out underneath her long platinum hair, hanging loose behind her. The small strands that framed her oval face dropped little beads of water onto her collarbones, her milky skin dewy from an obvious shower.

She hummed a light tune as she switched on a warm lamp beside her vanity table. Her voice was deeper, more tense than it had been before. I remembered the delicate little sunbird from middle school, a brittle and breakable thing if it wasn't for Daddy's protection.

Although she held the same delicacy, she was far from little anymore. Sunday was all grown up now, with every curve filled out on her worthless body and confidence pooled deep in her dirt brown eyes.

My head tilted down and I watched her through the oversized mirror, my profile overcast by the room's darkness. She stared at her reflection with shallow breaths. She pulled her full pink bottom lip in between her teeth and frowned. Her delicate fingers reached for the glass of water placed on the dressing table. I counted my own silent seconds, so aware of her that it sunk something terrifying deep in the pit of my stomach.

Fuck you, Sunday Harding.

My head fell back against the wall and I drew in a sharp breath. The sound caused Sunday to shriek, jumping back once she saw me in her periphery. Her chest heaved as she turned her body to face me, a shrewd gasp escaping her lips as she stumbled back into her table from the utter shock of my obscured presence.

She gaped at me, dumbfounded.

"What the fuck?!" Her voice was a loud whisper, trembling unsteadily into the space between us. Sunday clutched the edge of the table behind her, gripping the wood with pale knuckles. She was scared. Smart girl.

I slanted my head and studied her, a smirk playing on my lips. I trailed a lazy glance from her thighs to her slim waist. I slowly regarded the rest of her body, paying special attention to the way her chest caved with every heavy exhale before I rested on her face.

She shifted her stance and looked apprehensively around the room, composing herself while she waited for me to say something. I remained still as ice, muscles flexing and jaw ticking as I scrutinised her. Something enkindled underneath my skin.

Sunday cocked her head defiantly, staring at me straight in the eyes. Her body was alight with something I couldn't place as those pools of deep brown descended on my body like a damn whip. Hatred? Fear? Longing?

"What the hell are you doing here, Simmons?"

"You mean back in town? Or back in your bedroom?" I leered, not letting her know this was the first time I had ever been inside her room, but letting the thought consume her anyway.

Sunday's eyes widened and a red flush climbed up her neck.

A beat pulsed between us.

"The front door wasn't open," I sighed wearily, straightening my posture. Despite my obvious displeasure, a wicked smile clung to my lips.

"Get the fuck out before I call the police," she seethed, voice growing more and more agitated.

"My, my granny. What a foul mouth you have!" I whistled, in false surprise. My face deadened as I appraised her more seriously. "You wouldn't call the police on me and have Daddy know you're slumming it with the dirt. Let's not lie to each other."

I stalked forward, my torn and tattered jeans riding low on my hips. I stood out in her neat and well-kept room, everything about me cracked and ruptured while she remained still, fucking polished, clean and immaculate.

Still, I was unable to tear my eyes away from her.

I took a step towards her, caging in her body as my arms descended beside hers. I gripped the edge of the table and stared down at her wimpy little face. My height loomed over her. I stood a couple heads higher than her but her eyes darkened as she tilted her head up to face me. A storm brewed over her features as her eyes locked on mine in a challenge.

Her warm breath fluttered out as her chest rose and fell against mine.

"I would think you knew better than to come back here," she glowered.

"Don't think too hard, sunflower," I said. "You might burst a blood vessel."

For a long moment, neither of us spoke or broke eye contact. I tightened my fists under my arms, feeling the sore ache from my freshly-opened knuckles. Every muscle in my body tensed as she stripped me bare with her soul-searching gaze.

"Whatever power trip you think you're on, Kolson," she muttered. "I'm done playing your games. Stay the fuck away from me."

My nostrils flared at the sound of my name on her lips. She swallowed a heavy wedge of disgust, and I glanced down at her throat. I wanted to rip her apart.

"We both know that's out of the question, little bird. Except, this time," I whispered down to her. "This time, it's my turn to ruin you."

Her fist tightened on my jacket and she pulled me in closer, malice blazing through her fingertips. Her mouth squirmed up to me and I resisted the urge to flinch at the close contact.

"Not if I ruin you first." she hissed.

Christ.

She began to remove her hand from my chest but I caught her wrist and held it firmly where it was. She looked up at me with a desolate look, dark and feverish. For a brief, inebriating moment, I could have sworn lust swarmed her features as I pressed harder into her bones.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Sunday Harding." I growled, inching down towards her. " You're more selfish, weak and afraid than when I left. Look at the pathetic state of you."

"You seem to be looking at me enough for the both of us, Kolson."

"Can you blame me for being curious about how something so human can resemble shit so much?" I let her hand drop from my grasp and she snatched it away like it burned.

"Go to hell."

"I've already been, little bird," I moved my fingers down to her waist and lifted her onto the dressing table with one hand. Sunday gasped as her ass rested on the edge, causing her bathrobe to ride up her thighs. My eyes flickered down to the movement.

I glanced up at her through my lashes. "If I have to go back, trust me it won't be alone."

Sunday blinked down towards where my hand rested against her waist and her eyes fluttered shut. It took me a few seconds to register what was happening before I removed my hand from her shuddering frame and lightly skimmed my damaged knuckles over her ribcage.

Her eyes snapped up to mine and said, Don't you even dare. Mine responded with a simple, Fuck off.

I told myself that the only reason my stomach flipped was because I wasn't supposed to be touching someone so conceited, so snobby and power-hungry. The wealth, the excess, the deception; everything about her turned me off, but I had long been obsessed with self-immolation. I knew I wasn't supposed to be touching her.

But she hadn't pushed me away yet and that small fact wrenched me in like whiskey to a drunkard.

My fingers grazed up towards the side of her breast and my knuckles scratched the soft skin underneath. Her nipples pebbled into hard points, straining beneath the thin material of her robe.

I sucked in a breath and heat doused me in hot lashings. Fuck, Sunday.

She clutched my hand, lithe fingers digging into the open wounds. Her nails left crescent-shaped moons on my palm, blood seeping onto her ivory robe as she dug harder. Expressionless, my eyes reduced to slits on her as I let the tender ache wash over me.

"Here's where you're wrong," she breathed, hungrier and angrier. Her hot breath danced over the skin on my neck. Her heart pounded so hard, I felt its rhythm against my own chest. "Whatever game you're thinking of playing. This round, I'm going to fucking annihilate you."

I wasn't expecting anything less from her. After all, I ruined what she loved the most and disappeared. Except, I remembered the day I lost everything like it was yesterday and this town forgot like my entire life didn't stop. Sunday Harding stood for everything I despised, everything I once had that I lost.

This meant war and my chest rattled with satisfaction from the knowledge she was finally fighting back.

"It's going to be a damn shame when I rip apart your life all over again," I hissed.

"How lucky of me that there's nothing left for you to take that you haven't already." Her bitter voice cut through mine with equal parts anger and eagerness.

She let go of my hand and rubbed her nails against the collar of her robe, as if appalled to have any part of me on her.

"Now you know I'm not a saint, little bird." I reached behind her, "And I very rarely play fair."

The temptation to bite into her shoulder consumed me. I wanted her to suffer like I did. Instead, I grabbed the glass of cool water and let it fall to the floor. The glass shattered in slow motion. It crashed onto the hardwood floor and broke into multiple shards as water splattered around us.

Sunday's eyes whipped dangerously towards her door, the noise insistent enough to wake her parents, who would rip her a new asshole if they saw me in her room like this. A devious grin spread across my face at the stark look of terror plastered on her face.

I ripped my body away from hers, causing her to tumble down onto the floor next to the pooling water. She shot her hands out to catch herself but the grimace already told me that the landing hurt.

A deep gratification unfurled in my ribs. You want to play, little bird?

I leisurely strode towards the window, eating the distance in three steps. I deliberately rubbed my bloody knuckles along the wall near her window, staining the bland paint as I climbed out.

Let's fucking play.