I’m just the dumbass kid he needs to rescue all the time. The stupid deer running scared.
Hell, I couldn’t even control what I was feeling that night. Didn’t understand what was happening to me.
I try to close my eyes, to get some rest, but Mac continues to plague my thoughts, my dreams.
And it's tearing me apart.
Chapter 10
Two weeks later, I stand on his porch. I don’t remember the trek up the hill. Panic flutters weakly inside my skull, but my stomach is growling something fierce.
When was the last time I've eaten?
I’ve been collecting some canned food, but most days I don’t have an appetite. Lately, all I’ve been doing is sleeping.
Or crying.
The front door swings open, and Mac stands there, arms crossed, face growing somber by the second.
Probably because I look like shit.
He stands back and jerks his head inward, and I shuffle past him wordlessly, grateful to be out of the endless cold.
Only, as I walk past I notice deep lines are etched into his face, under his brown eyes are dark as if he hasn’t slept, and I swear his cheeks look a little thinner, as if he hasn’t been eating either.
Odd, considering I can smell whatever he’s whipping up in the kitchen.
In the entry, my icy fingers fumble at my clothes, but Mac wraps warm hands over mine. “Keep your fucking clothes on.”
My heart stutters, and I look up at him, tears forming as my stomach growls.
But before I can say anything, he offers a weak smile. “You’re getting too thin. Shoulda come back sooner.”
I shake my head. “Cost is too high.”
He doesn’t say anything, only steps away, muttering to himself.
Mac has no clue how much being here right now is even costing me. But I’m hungry and don’t feel right.
And it scares me.
So, he can use my body if that’s what he wants. Even if it destroys my heart.
Because at the end of the day, I’m his to break.
“Let’s get some food in ya.” He gently leads me toward the kitchen.
As we walk past the living room, I notice a hole in the wall, as if someone’s fist went through it. And the coffee table is flipped over.
What the fuck happened here?
Inside the kitchen, I sit at the table, only Mac doesn’t snap the customary handcuff on and his . . . Where the fuck is his shotgun?
Something isn’t right.
Mac smiles and places a mug in front of me. “Drink this. Will help warm ya up a bit.”
The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which are dark, but not in a lusty or threatening way. They look void, dead.
