“Then you’ll just have to wait,” I say, turning away, then smirk as I hear her hiss in frustration.
I rummage in the suitcase until I find a short white eyelet dress. I’d filled the suitcase to the brim with pretty white dresses. She won’t be forgetting she’s my bride in a hurry.
She doesn’t say a word but she doesn’t have to, her violet eyes glaring at me as I push the dress over her then sit her down on the edge of the bed. She’s angry at me denying her, angry that I’m treating her like a helpless doll, angrier still that I find heranger amusing. I can read it all in her eyes, and it makes me smirk.
Little by little, I’m pushing past that thick wall she’d erected all around her. Little by little, I’m wearing her down. Breaking her. Proving to her she’s mine, and there’s nothing she can do about it.
The very thought that I own her is enough to make me hard again. But I didn’t wake her so early just to annoy her. Every nerve in my body is reminding me we’re on the run. We’ve taken enough time as it is. We need to go.
Quickly, I gather our things and zip shut the suitcase. I check my phone and breathe in relief as I read Logan’s message:All clear.
Finally, it’s time to go home.Ourhome.
Taking the suitcase in one hand, I guide her to the car, or rather, drag her, because this morning, she’s definitely putting up a fight.
Well, not a real one. It’s like she’s clinging to the last bits of her resistance, knowing soon I’m going to finish destroying it, and claim her entirely.
I buckle the seatbelt over her lap, ignoring her glowering stare, and settle into the driver’s seat.
She seems to have forgotten there’s any danger at all, especially since I’m driving a lot more calmly than yesterday. Right now, she’s focused on her anger, and I hear her struggle to speak under the weight of that emotion. At last, she manages to lash out, “You know, you don’t have to do everything for me. I can do things myself.”
I capture her hand in mine and bring it to my lips. “Yes, you can. You can be quiet.”
Those words make her seethe, I can tell, but she doesn’t speak again.
It’s hard not to give in to the desire to tease her, but I have tostay concentrated. I keep my eyes glued on the road, looking for any sign of a car following us. But I guess Logan was right. The coast reallyisclear.
“There’s an apple and a granola bar in the glove compartment,” I tell her.
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbles, and I see she’s still fuming. I hesitate to let it go, because her petulant anger really does amuse me. At the same time, even though the danger seems to be behind me, it’s hard not to fixate on the threat now that I’m really going through the motions of driving away from it.
Despite Logan’s reassurance, I know Seraphina’s still in danger. And she’s also being a fucking mulehead, showing me with every word and action that she won’t allow herself to be bossed around.
Worry gives in to aggravation, tinged with fear at the renewed realization that I don’t control her. And right now, it’s not frustration but fear that causes me to lash out. Because how the fuck am I supposed to protect her if I never know what she’ll do next?
My eyes still focused on the road, I snap, “I don’t care if you’re hungry or not. Eat your breakfast.”
She swallows hard and, after a minute’s hesitation, goes to retrieve the food. Again I have the nagging feeling she’s not actually submitting. Merely choosing her battles.
Still, I huff out a relieved breath as I see her nibbling on it in my peripheral vision. Good.
“Did you finish everything?”
She nods mutely.
“Show me the wrapper and the core.”
She takes the apple core from her lap and I nod approvingly. Then she fumbles in her pocket for the wrapper. I frown as I notice she’s only eaten half.
“Put your hand out.”
She stares at me, confused.
“Hand out. Palm up. Now.”
Still looking confused, she does as I say. Then her eyes widen as I take the switch knife from my back pocket and open it. Looking away from the road once, I bring the flat surface of the blade down five times in rapid succession on her palm. She gasps and grabs her hand, but I know the gasp is more from surprise than pain. Though I notice out of the side of my eye that I’ve left a few satisfyingly red marks on her palm.
“That’s for lying,” I grunt. “Next time it will be worse. Now eat the rest of your granola bar and behave.”
