Maybe he decided that he was done with me, after all, and ordered his guard to stop following me.
That thought should make me joyful, but instead, I’m dragging my feet on the pavement.
It’s all for the best anyway.
Hopefully.
Probably.
I start to pull my earbuds out of my backpack when I spot a shadow under a tree. Leaning against a bike.
A sudden flutter dips in my stomach as I watch him.
Black jeans mold against muscular thighs, a T-shirt outlines his sculpted chest that I know is inked full of tattoos, and a jacket strains against his broad shoulders.
Then, finally, I study his face that’s shadowed by the darkness but still looks no different than that of a warlord who’s on a mission to conquer everything in his path.
Starting with me.
His ankles are crossed, and his finger strokes the surface of his helmet, back and forth, in a controlled rhythm.
It’s him.
The one who’s been plaguing my nightmares more than that wanker Jonah. In a way, I should be thankful, but screw him.
If he thinks I’ll go running to him with open arms, he must not know what he did wrong.
I cut off eye contact, shove the earbuds in my ears, and turn up the music to the max as I march down the empty street.
A few steps later, I’m wrenched back, and I gasp when I see a car speeding a few meters away.
I pull out the earbuds to be greeted by a shout from the driver.
The strong hand on my elbow spins me around so that I’m face-to-face with my savior, who might as well be my tormentor.
His lashes fall like shutters on his dark eyes as he shakes my arm. “What the fuck did I say about tuning out your outside world? Next time, when you cross the road, you look first. Is that understood?”
I flinch as if each word is a whip embedding itself into my skin.
It’s probably because he’s touching me after such a long time. Or because he’s actually here. In person. After I thought I wouldn’t see him again.
Those facts are definitely messing with my head, because I’m resisting the very illogical urge to wrap my arms around him and hug him.
I rotate my elbow, trying to free it from his grip, but I might as well be caught by metal.
His fingers dig into my flesh, firm, unmoving. “I said, is that fucking understood?”
“Screw you,” I let out in a charged tone, surprised at the emotions that choke my voice. “You don’t disappear for two weeks, then start ordering me around. Who the hell do you think you are, Jeremy? My owner? My keeper? A toy on your shelf that you believe you can grab when you’re bored? Because I’m not. I try to be strong, but I get hurt, and I feel pain, lots of it. So if you’re going to disappear, do it for good. Stop playing with my feelings!”
Thick silence permeates the air, intertwined with thick tension and simmering violence.
I can see it in his eyes. In the darkening gray that blends with the night. Even his body has stiffened, transforming into one block of lethal muscle trained to inflict pain.
That’s precisely what I expect, and I wouldn’t be surprised after my outburst. If we were alone, I have no doubt that he’d bend me over and fuck me.
Punish me.
Make me beg so he can do it all over again.
However, his grip doesn’t tighten around my elbow. In fact, he releases it, hesitantly, as if that’s the exact opposite of what he wants to do.
“You have feelings for me?” he speaks in an unaffected tone, one that’s filled with so much apathy, my spine jerks upright.
It’s like he’s preparing for the blow that will disintegrate me.
He steps forward, towering over me, but he doesn’t touch me. Only his warmth strangles me, and his scent pools at the bottom of my belly.
“Not anymore,” I say with confidence I don’t feel.
“If you don’t, why would you ask me not to play with them? Are you a liar, Cecily?” His chest rises and falls as if in dissatisfaction, in anger.
His muscles grow rigid, and every particle of his body seems to have gained a presence of its own.
He reaches out a hand that appears so large and intimidating. I flinch, but it’s too late.
He’s already wrapped it around my throat, his fingers digging in the flesh with a firmness that doesn’t allow me to breathe, let alone move.
“Responsible Cecily. Selfless, altruistic, sacrificial Cecily.” His voice has dipped, and so have his brows, but there’s a slight snarl in his upper lip. “You care so much about your friends, don’t you? Your family, your little circle of foolish jokes and empty nothingness. You’re the mother, no? The one who ensures everyone is home safe, that no one ends up with a random pregnancy, drinks too much, or is all alone.”