“You think you’re the queen, but you’re just a helpless little girl,” he says, eyes boring into mine. “And you know what happens to helpless little girls?”
I can’t breathe. I can’t even think. All I can do is glare at him, hatred and want warring in my veins.
He grins, flashing teeth. “They get sacrificed.”
The words hit me in the gut. I twist out of his grip, but he lets me go, like he planned it that way.
The onlookers pretend to go back to their business, but I can feel the shock moving through the crowd. The myth of the untouchable princess is shattered, replaced with something ugly and real.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, even though he didn’t touch it. “If you ever touch me again, I’ll break your fucking arm,” I say, voice shaking.
He just laughs, deep and savage. “Promise, little girl?”
I want to scream. Instead, I turn on my heel, walking away fast enough that the world blurs at the edges.
I don’t look back.
But I know he’s watching.
And I know that everyone else is, too.
I cut through the east arch, taking the long way to the library because the crowd’s eyes are still on me, and I can’t stand to give them another show. There’s a small gap between the main hall and the back wall, a pocket of shadow where the sun never quite reaches.
I go there to breathe, to sew myself back together. I don’t expect Bam to follow. He’s not a stalker; he’s a fucking beast. Beasts don’t need to sneak.
But I’m barely two steps into the alley before a hand grabs my shoulder and spins me hard. My heel skids on the flagstone, and for a second I’m airborne, all balance gone.
He catches me mid-fall, slamming my spine into the cold stone, palm flat on my sternum. His other hand cages my wrist, pinning it above my head. I try to kick but he’s pressed so tight there’s no room. I can smell him—blood, sweat, the faint, acrid bite of leather. I want to hate it. I want to hate him.
Instead, I gasp, and he catches the sound with his mouth.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a dare. He bites my bottom lip hard enough to break skin, and when I open my mouth to curse him, his tongue is already there. He tastes like violence and victory.
I bite back. He grunts, and the sound vibrates through my whole body.
“Fuck off,” I spit, but it’s muffled by his grip on my jaw. He squeezes until my teeth ache. I know I should be scared, but all I feel is heat—raw, white-hot, igniting every nerve from my scalp to my toes.
He drops my wrist, and before I can use it to hit him, his fingers tangle in my hair, wrenching my head back so my neck is arched. He traces a thumb over the bruise at my throat.
“You want this,” he says, so quiet I almost miss it.
I shake my head, but my body betrays me, pressing into the wall, into him. His knee is wedged between my thighs, and the pressure there is unbearable.
“No. I don’t. People can see us, Bam, what the fuck are you doing?”
His mouth splits open in a snarl, “Bad girls get treated like the whores they are. You’re already mine, Dahlia, and I can do whatever the fuck I want to you and you’re going to take it like the good little cock slut you are.”
He tears at the buttons of my blouse, not careful, not gentle. Pearl buttons ping off the stone and scatter at our feet. His hand slides under my bra, palm rough against my skin, thumb finding the peak and rolling it between callused pads. I jerk in his grip, but he just holds me harder.
Grabbing at my jacket, he pulls until it’s laying in a crumpled heap on the dirty ground.
He rips the shirt wide, pulling the bra down, exposing both breasts to the frigid air. Goosebumps race across my chest, but my nipples are dark and hard and begging for more. He notices, leans in, and bites a ring around one, not quite breaking skin, but close.
I stifle a moan, biting down on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. He sees the tension in my face and laughs, the sound reverberating through his ribcage and into mine.
“You like it,” he mocks, twisting harder.
“You’re disgusting.”
