“Would it matter?”
“Depends on the lie.”
He stops inches from me.His heat hits my bare skin, and my pulse stumbles in my throat.
“You smell like dirt,” he murmurs.“And fear.”
“You smell like bourbon," I fire back."And someone’s cherry lip gloss.Your girlfriend?”
His jaw tics.
He likes that.My jealousy.
He hates that he likes that.
His hand lifts, and I prepare for the grip, the punishment, the anger.But instead, he brushes a curl from my cheek.Soft.Sinful.Terrifying.
“You run again,” he murmurs, voice so deep it vibrates through my ribs.“And I’ll chain you to my bed in the basement.”
My heart flips, traitorous.
“Try it,” I whisper.
His pupils darken.“Don’t tempt me.”
He steps past me, crouches by the vent, and pulls the bloody denim scrap from where I tried to stash it.
His expression changes.
Breaks.
“What’s this?”
“Came from the cemetery.I think it’s Valerie’s jacket.You know her.Hairdresser who went missing from Blow Me.”
“You went to the cemetery.”
“Yeah, and I saw someone,” I say quietly.“Or something.I don’t know.”
He studies me like he can peel the truth off my bones.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”he says.“Ain’t right.Something’s moving in the dark.”
I swallow.“And my daddy’s hiding something.”
He nods slowly.“Then tell me everything.Start remembering.Start thinking.Because next time you run, I might not be the one who catches you.”
My skin chills.The memory of heavy footsteps behind me in the cemetery returns like a bruise.“I’ve showed you all I know.”
Royal straightens.Walks to the door.Doesn’t lock it.Doesn’t chain me back up, either.A warning.A test.A promise.
He glances back once.
“Put some damn shoes on next time.”
Then he leaves.I sit alone on the bed, the denim scrap bleeding old terror into my palm.I don’t know what stalked me tonight.
A man.
