Forbidden Flesh : (A Dark College Romance) The Prey Series Book, 5 by Carmen Rosales

Author:Carmen Rosales [Rosales, Carmen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-04-04T00:00:00+00:00

“What movies do you like to watch?”

Azriel shrugs, placing the batteries back on the shelf, his attention only half on me. "Whatever's interesting, I guess."

“Horror? Action?”

“I like horror. If it’s good.”

“You?”

“I like scary. When I could watch it.”

“How come?”

I glance away, the question more loaded than I intended. "I had to move out of my parents' house. The constant fighting and the suffocating rules were too much. I'm not exactly the favorite, as you can tell."

"Brother can do no wrong?"

A laugh, bitter and short, escapes me. "Exactly."

“I know how you feel. Hey, want to watch a movie tonight? After work? I think Netflix added the latest Friday The 13th.”

“Do you want me to come over to your place?”

He looks up in surprise. “You want to see it?” Azriel stammers.

I shrug. “Sure. If you promise not to be a murderer.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile.

He places the car in reverse and backs out of the parking lot of the hardware store. He said I could pick up my car later, and he would drive me home. I didn’t want my brother stopping by and finding my car there, knowing I left with someone else in their car. It’s Friday night. I’m sure he’s out doing something, or maybe not. With one of the guys found murdered, I’m sure they are on lockdown anyway. Which means so are Zack and his stupid friends.

“I have plenty of room. Mrs. Mallory will stop by in the morning. She always drops in on Saturdays to clean and make me breakfast,” he rambles on nervously.

I don’t think Azriel has many people coming over to his house.

“Who is Mrs. Mallory?”

He scratches his brow and keeps one hand on the steering wheel. “She takes care of the house. She’s kind of like a mom slash grandma. You’ll really like her.”

“You live alone?”

He nods. “Most of the time.”

He presses the music app onto the screen. Three Days Grace’s “Never Too Late” begins to play.

We drive past Kenyan and notice an uptick in campus security in an upscale neighborhood behind the university. It’s secluded and dark.

He makes a right, then a left, and drives down a dark road to a large metal gate. No houses are on either side, hidden behind thick greenery, ancient trees, and sprawling branches. There are two black lampposts on each side of the large pillars. He pushes one of the three buttons on the visor. The gate swings open, and he drives through the winding path leading to a large modern home.

“Wow,” I whisper in awe.

The house is gorgeous. Well-lit with white walls and black windows. Clear-encased light fixtures separate all six garage spaces.

“You live here?”

“Yep. I told you I had a lot of space.”

“How…”

But I stop myself. It’s none of my business. I think Mr. Crosby said his father owns the hardware store, but I have never seen him. Maybe he left the business to Azriel. It’s not far-fetched. Azriel is what? Twenty-one. His parents must have had money or something. Everyone born in Kenya has money.

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