Because she knows. This is the price of dancing with flames. You get burned.
"Get in," I command once more.
And this time—she obeys.
Because now she understands—there's no escape once I strip away the facade of kindness.
Chapter 6
Cold Baptism
Jacob
The truck growls beneath us the whole way home, engine snarling through every bend like it feels what I feel. Rage. Humiliation. Something worse.
My hands clamp the wheel tight enough to snap bone. Every time she shifts beside me, I feel it—the heat of her disobedience, the ghost of her weight on another man’s lap. The image won’t leave me. The way she looked at him. The way he looked at her.
Her silence only stokes it. She knows not to speak. Not after that. Not after the way she made me look.
She’s pressed up against the passenger door like she’s trying to crawl out of her skin. She should be afraid. She should be shaking. Because I’m not done. Not even close.
The house looms ahead—tall, black, soulless. Empty windows staring back, porch light flickering like it’s choking on its last breath. I never fix it. I want it to die. Let the darkness welcome her home.
I kill the engine. Step out. Slam the door so hard it rocks the truck. I’m already moving before she reaches for the handle. Rip her door open, grab her arm—right where she bruises easiest—and drag her out.
She stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. She clings to her pride like it’ll protect her. It won’t. She’s not a woman right now—she’s a weight. A burden. Something I have to re-break just to remind her how to behave.
The porch groans under my boots. Mud smears across the boards. I don’t care. She’ll clean it later, on her knees. The door slams behind us. The whole house vibrates. She flinches. Barely. But I see it. I feel it. I turn. Lock the door. Click. Trap set.
“You think that was smart?” My voice is ice. Brutal and low. “Grinding on some nobody with a second-hand guitar?”
She doesn’t answer.
I take a step. “Answer me.”
“I danced,” she whispers.
Wrong answer.
“You disobeyed.”
Another step. Close enough to feel the tension in her chest. I tower over her and watch her shrink under me. Good girl.
But not good enough.
Every inch of me wants to shove her into the wall. Watch her gasp. Force the apology from her mouth. But I don’t. Not yet. Pain’s a waste if she doesn’t learn.
“You think people didn’t notice?” I grind out. “Think I didn’t see the way he looked at you? Like you were a prize? A fucking freebie?”
Her jaw tightens. A flicker of defiance—pathetic.
“He asked me to dance. That’s it.”
“And. You. Said. Yes.” I don’t need to raise my voice. I’m not the storm. I’m the eye of it. Stillness. Silence. Certainty.
She doesn’t get it. Every second on that floor unravelled what I’ve spent years wrapping tight. Every sway of her hips told the whole damn town she’s not taken. Not claimed. Not mine. But she’s wrong.
I slam my badge on the table. It lands with an echo.
